


Pyrrhic in Nature

by AmateurScribes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AI Biff, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence, Body Modification, Courtroom Drama, Kissing, M/M, Medical Procedures, Memory Alteration, Mystery, Mythology References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison, Sharing a Brain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: Grif's pretty sure that when a murderous asshole gives you a strange device you're not supposed to take it. And he's doubly sure that you're not supposed to implant it inside of yourself upon the consideration that it's actually an AI.But he's never really been one for thinking rationally, and he can't deny the curiosity that's festering inside at the question he can't possibly answer.Why would Temple give him an AI?





	1. A Gift From Me To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By all means, I should not be starting _another_ multi-chapter fic, but considering that I can't do much with Hourglass or Transcendence until season 17 is over and I count all my loses (man did this season really mess with some of my planning, but fuck if I'm changing anything story-wise, but lore-wise I'm in trouble) I guess it's not too bad. I have a lot of projects but so little time, whoops.
> 
> Anywho, I decided fuck my Beta's this time and decided to bite the bullet and not wait so all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!

When Locus told him that his part of the rescue was to be the distraction, he almost swooned at the very thought.

Because he could be a very good distraction when he needed to be. Theoretically.

As he often told Kai, she was just annoying enough to step on people's toes and piss them off at the same time, that they wouldn't even notice him taking their wallet's out of their pockets. So in theory, he should be able to employ the very same advice he had given out, right?

Walking around in circles wasn't even that much of a chore after walking around the small, small, _small_ island that they had called home on Iris far too many times to count. At least now he had new things to look at, instead of the same old water and empty bases and condescending volleyballs who wouldn't let him _get his apology out-_ and he was getting off track now.

Eating that fish? Not only was that the easiest part of the plan so far, but it was also the most delicious. There's always something so satisfying about having a fresh meal instead of the same old MRE's. Was he worried that it had been poisoned? No, the fuck he wasn't- it's fucking _fish_ it was probably already riddled with enough mercury to poison him by itself.

And slipping into the vent, just to make himself a sitting duck? Child's play. He wasn't even really stuck, but getting to lay down and kick his feet about sure felt silly but it was also what was necessary. He's had way more bitter pills to swallow in the past that he's pretty sure he doesn't even know the definition of dignity anyhow.

But what Grif was definitely _not_ expecting was to get dragged into what he could only guess was Temple's office.

"This doesn't look like a jail cell," he quips, side-eyeing the Donut and Tucker rip-offs.

Temple doesn't say anything for a good minute or two, before he sharply ordered, "Leave us."

The aqua soldier to his left huffed, but turned around and left anyhow, dragging with him the pink soldier who gasped with a tone similar to the one Donut got when he felt like some sort of drama was going to occur.

Which left just him and Temple.

Alone.

It's a good thing he's here to be a distraction because otherwise, he'd probably be freaking out a little bit.

"So this was your rescue plan?" Temple mocks, glaring at the computer on the desk, reaching out to grab the mouse, making harsh clicking sounds as he tried to properly delete something. If Grif had to guess it was most likely pop-ups. "Act like an idiot and- do what exactly? What have you accomplished?"

Considering that he got that assholes attention? He's accomplished being a good distraction.

"Oh, you know," he shrugged. "I just figured the good ol' SIM Trooper luck would kick in. Still waiting on that, by the way, asshole. So you know, watch out."

Temple barks out a mean laugh, mockingly asking, "You really think you've got any luck? You're an orange SIM Trooper. You don't _get_ luck."

"Don't see what color has to do with anything, but last I checked, it's the jerks in cobalt armor that get killed if we're using Church as a basis for anything," Grif honestly shocked he managed to get Church's name out without stumbling over it. They probably still have to save him. Probably.

"And do you think he's alive?" Temple latches on the apostrophe, and in turn, gets Grif's attention as well. "Church? Do you believe that he's still alive?"

"Before? I wished he'd stay dead," Grif admits, before narrowing his eyes. "Now? I have a feeling he's not really alive."

"Smart," the cobalt soldier in front of him remarks. "I'm afraid your friends aren't as smart. You'll be joining them in a moment."

"And why didn't you take me to them right away," he tilts his chin up indignantly.

"I wanted to see how much of a disappointment you were in person," Temple snarls. "And I'm not disappointed. I'd offer you to join my team-"

"That's not happening," Grif interjects.

"But I'm sure I already know the answer," Temple finishes, sounding almost sullen. "You can't say I didn't try to save your life."

"The thought isn't appreciated," why the villain even thought that he'd abandon the guys again after coming all this way to save them, he couldn't even begin to know.

"I do have something for you though," Temple says before opening a drawer and rummaging through it. "Do forgive me for not having it ready, it's been such a long time since I made it."

Grif blinks in confusion because certainly, this couldn't be fucking good at all. Hopefully, it isn't a bullet with his name on it, that'd be real inconvenient.

"I must admit, I took some inspiration from Shakespeare," Temple chuckled slightly, slamming the drawer closed and opening another. "A line from _Hamlet_ really drew my attention and had me looking into multiple something's deeper."

With a loud cheer, Temple pulls out some sort of oddly shaped object, holding it up in the light.

"What the fuck is that," he glares at the object, and while it doesn't _look_ like a weapon, it _could_ be one. Or maybe it could be a tracking device or a wiretap device or a something device.

Point is, he's looking at it distrustfully as he rightfully should.

"Think of it as a friendship bracelet," Temple passes the object across the desk towards him.

Grif doesn't pick it up, saying, "Aren't there usually two friendship bracelets made, one for you and one for me?"

"That is how it typically goes, isn't it," there's a hidden smirk behind that statement, Grif can just tell by the way the asshole says it.

Poking the object, he asks, "What even is this?"

"An extension of goodwill, an olive branch- or if you'd prefer, a free tool for you to use," Temple shrugged. "Whichever you prefer, I don't mind that you're taking it even if you're still on the wrong side."

"Don't be a smart ass," Grif snips. "You know I meant what it _literally_ is."

"You could figure that part out yourself," coldness begins to bleed into Temple's voice again. "Now take damn thing before I force you to."

Frowning, he quickly swipes up the object, cradling the small thing towards his chest as if Temple was gonna bite his damn hand off.

And considering the sudden mood switches, he wouldn't be surprised if the other SIM Trooper did.

Maneuvering around the desk, Temple jerks his head towards the exit.

"It's time for you to join your friends," the bastard says. "If you decide to switch sides, let any of my men know."

"I won't, thanks," Grif mutters, rolling his eyes knowing that his time as a distraction was coming to a close.

As much as he hates that he's being practically manhandled towards the jail cells, he's slightly excited to see the others again.

He'd finally get a chance to apologize, and make amends, and after they beat this blue bitch and make his merry gang of assholes, everything would go back to normal- or as normal as things could get for them.

Looking down at the object still cradled in his hands, he has to admit that he's curious about it.

But that's something to focus on later.

Preferably when he can have someone give an identification on whatever the fuck it even was.

So he slides it into one of the many compartments in his suit and promptly forgets about it.

* * *

At the end of it all, Temple gets arrested and they really do see Church again.

And as much as he would just love to sit back and relax, and maybe get some fine Earth delicacies while they were planetside, the object that he was given sits heavy in his compartment.

So he doesn't argue with anybody when they all hop on the transport straight to Chorus.

Although he still doesn't care about whatever 'big things' that were happening on Chorus and he's sure no one else is either.

Grif knows everyone's worried about Wash, he is too, to some extent.

But keeping the 'gift' he got a secret was weighing on his mind.

Should he just throw the damn thing out? Pretend like he never got it?

But that could lead to someone else potentially finding it, which could be disastrous in its own right.

So, what? Should he just destroy it? And what if it was a bomb of some sort and he ends up getting himself injured.

No, there wasn't much he could do to get rid of the thing by himself.

And he's not really feeling too inclined to show it to any of the others any time soon. There's no telling what their reactions would be like.

And like hell is he going to go up to the reporter to ask her if _she_ knew what it was. Or that kid she had for a cameraman.

No, he would need someone who wasn't involved in this whole Blue and Red scandal. Someone good with technology, someone _smart._

There was only one person who really came to mind.

And fuck, they were going to be spending a lot of time in the hospital for Wash anyhow right? Who would notice if he slipped out to talk to the good doctor?

After he visited Wash first, of course, it was the least he could do.

* * *

He should not be considering this- no really, he should just turn and walk back down this hallway all the way out of the hospital, because this has to be his dumbest idea to date-

"Captain Grif! What a pleasure to see you again," Dr. Grey chirps as she appears at his side, scaring the crap out of him. "But last I checked, you aren't missing any limbs- unless you _are_ in which case I'd need to see you immediately- so I must admit, I'm curious as to why you're here."

Fuck it was too late to back out of this.

"Oh, hey Grey," he raises his hand in a half-hearted greeting. "I'm actually here to speak to you. About non-medical related things."

"In that case, come into my office," she chirps, leading him into the room he had been standing outside of for, oh, the past hour or so. "And please Captain, I'm certain by now we've known each other long enough for you to call me Emily!"

She shuts the door behind him, and he fiddles with the object in his hands.

"Right, well, _Emily,"_ he can practically see her beaming smile behind the helmet. "You're smart, right?"

"Smarter than any of you, that's for sure!" she lets out a brief laugh, waving her hand as she does so. "Need to pick my brain do you?"

"Yeah, I figured you'd be the best person to go to," he raises his hand so that she can see the small device. "I remember you were all about the alien technology here on Chorus, so I figured you'd be able to tell me what this is."

She opens her palm towards him, and dutifully drops the object in her hands.

Dr. Grey rolls it gently across her palm with her thumb, before picking it up with nimble fingers to examine it further.

"Why this is fascinating," she breathes out. "Where did you get something like this?"

"It was given to me," he says, leaving out the part where a deranged murderer gave it to him. Because that'd be cause for concern of course. "Do you know what it is?"

"I have an _inkling_ on what it is, yes," she nods her head. "It's a very hodgepodge imitation of an AI implant, from what I can tell, but the only true way to know is to test it out."

"Wait, wait," he holds up his hands, feeling a headache approaching quickly. "Did you just say AI?"

"Yes, Captain," she hands him back the device. "While it looks crudely constructed, I'm quite sure that that is a fully functioning implant. Now, of what AI, I can't be sure."

"But could you find out?" he asks. "If you had to?"

"Well, if I had the proper equipment, yes I suppose I could," she taps her fingers against her forearms in thought. "But, we do not have anything like that here on Chorus. The UNSC would most likely have what I'd need, but you know how forthcoming they are."

Truthfully he doesn't know why he's bothering to ask, but he can't stop the words from coming out of his mouth, "What about Santa?"

Pausing for a moment, it seems like Grey is mulling it over before she speaks up again, "That... could work. We could ask Santa to probe the implant to get a reading on the AI itself and to make sure there are no unfortunate side effects upon implantation."

"Implantation, right," Grif frowns, thankful that Grey can't see it.

Fuck he's really hoping he's not considering what he _thinks_ he's considering.

"You... are planning on implanting it, am I correct in guessing that, Captain," Grey tilts her helmet slightly, looking at him inquisitively.

Fuck it, yeah he guesses that he is.

He's too damn curious on why Temple would give him an AI.

With how he's been able to survive so much bullshit over the years, he's really hoping that he hasn't wasted all nine of his lives yet.

Curiosity and the fucking cat.

"Only if Santa can vouch for the damn thing," he huffs. "I'm not allowing it control of my armor if it's just gonna end up glitching out."

"I'm afraid you don't understand," Grey shakes her head. "This isn't like when Epsilon would temporarily jump from armor to armor. This is a physical implant, this will require a much more sophisticated neural interface than what Project Freelancer supplied all of the SIM Troopers with. This will go _inside of you."_

The fact that that doesn't immediately put him off of the idea concerns him. A lot.

What the fuck is he thinking?

"I'm willing to undergo surgery," he says, knowing for sure that he'd rather do anything else, but also knowing that not figuring out what the fuck was up with that AI would keep him awake at night. "But I'm not so sure how soon that'll be, I'll have to see how much money I have-"

"For you, Captain, I'm willing to perform the surgery by myself, completely off the books," she adds. "It's the least I could do for one of the heroes of Chorus."

"Grey, I can't let you do that," he tries to argue before she cut him off.

"Emily," she reminds him. "And, if it'll soothe your thoughts, I'm as interested in this little AI as you are. Think of it as me helping my fellow partner in crime rather than me being indebted to you."

"Fine," he begrudgingly agreed, knowing that he couldn't go to anyone else for this. "But only on the condition that you don't tell the others about this, I don't want to them to know about this. They should be focusing on Wash, not me."

And he doesn't want them to question where he got the AI from, but that sounded too suspicious. Not that his whole secretive thing didn't sound suspicious either, but at least Grey was willing to not ask too many questions in favor of trying out morally questionable things for knowledge.

"Of course," Grey nods her head. "Now, I'll simply get Santa over here, if Vanessa will let me borrow him for just a moment."

She walks over towards her desk, lounging against it as she radios in on Kimball's comm frequency.

"Vanessa dear? No, nothing's wrong... Yes, I was wondering if you could send Santa my way... I simply want to check something out, I could use his expertise... Thank you," Grey chirps, just as the red hologram appears before the both of them.

"I was told you needed me," Santa says in lieu of a greeting.

"Yes, could you examine this implant for the both us," Grey gestures towards Grif who extends the device towards the alien AI. "I'm to do surgery with it, and I want to make sure it's functional- _and_ unlikely to leave my patient comatose."

Santa nods as Grif blurts out, "Wait what?" concerned about that last part of Grey's statement and is promptly ignored by the hologram disappearing into the device only to come out a moment later.

"The implant is fully operational," the AI informs them. "I detect no hints of corruption or impairments, and can confirm that it's ready for surgery."

"Perfect," Grey chirps. "Now, what of the AI itself?"

"The AI is... confused," Santa sounds confused himself. "I sense no hint of malice, only a sense of homesickness. It is most peculiar."

"Is it now," Grey sounds excited. "Well, thank you for your assistance, Santa."

"Of course," the AI tilts forward in a bow. "If you need me further, simply call."

He disappeared as quickly as he appeared, leaving the two of them alone again.

"Homesick," Grey tests out. "How could an AI feel homesick?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Grif desperately wants to pocket the device, instead of looking down at it and knowing that it's active, that there's a consciousness in his hands.

But, there is some part of him that wonders, if perhaps Temple was lying.

What if, this AI was Church? Could it be possible?

Likely not, it's best to not get his hopes up.

"Well, I can just ask it myself when the surgery has been completed," Grey grabs the datapad off of her desk to check her schedule. "Since this isn't an official appointment, I can manage to squeeze you in soon. Very soon. Do you think you can make your way back to the hospital in three days? Same time as right now would be optimal."

Nodding his head and making a note to make a note of it, he says, "I'll be there."

"I'm excited to figure this whole thing out with you, Captain," she announces, settling down the datapad, fervent energy laced in her voice.

"Yeah, me too," he can't help but agree.

* * *

Three days pass way too quickly, and he finds himself in a secluded operating room with just Grey and the implant.

"I am going to be placing you under anesthesia," Grey soothes him as he lay prone on the operating table. "You won't feel a thing, and it should help ease the connection between you and the AI."

Taking a deep breath, he nods his head, giving her his consent as he says, "Ok, put me under, doc."

"This will be like a controlled experiment," Grey continues to say, as she gets all of her instruments ready. "I will be here to ensure nothing goes wrong, and if something does, I will be here to make sure to pull the plug on the AI."

"Right, got it," nodding his head again, he tries to not think about Simmons reaction to hearing about his death from the procedure if it came to the worst case scenario. And considering his luck, he wouldn't be surprised if that's what it came down to.

"In the likelihood of some sort of mishap, I'll do my best to make sure your brain is intact, or well, at the very least I'll try to save the spine," she taps a gloved finger to her chin, ruminating on whatever fucked up mishap could happen, as if Grif hasn't already done that fifty times over.

"Just fucking pump me full of drugs already," he snaps, his nerves all wired up and he swears if Grey doesn't knock him out now he's going to explode from being so wound up.

There's a brief laugh at his outburst, but Grey finally stops adjusting everything to move over to him and to administer the anesthesia.

"See you on the other side, Captain," Grey adjusts the breathing mask over his face, allowing him to inhale the medicine. "I'll make sure you're fine, Grif."

Not bothering to comment, knowing that he was likely going to lose consciousness, he simply inhaled and inhaled the medicine.

This better be fucking worth it.

* * *

"Captain Grif," blearily he opens his eyes, hearing a distant voice reach out to him. "Are you awake now?"

Blinking furiously, he can see a blurry figure in front of him, and it takes a minute to get the cobwebs out of his head, and to force some of the gears that helped him think into motion before he can recognize, "Emily?"

"Yes, it's me, Captain," the doctor putters around the table, adjusting things that he couldn't begin to understand even with a clear mind. "Do you think you are capable of walking?"

"Huh," his vision starts to clear a bit, but in return, he can now hear the slur in his words, "Why?"

"You've been in surgery for an awfully long time, and as loathe as I am to let you out of my sights so _soon_ after it, I can't deny that at this point the other's will be worried," Grey comes over and helps him sit up. "Captain Simmons has already tried calling you multiple times."

There's a buzzing feeling in his head, and he's feeling slightly dizzy as he asks, "Georgina was calling for me?"

Grey stills as he speaks, fingers hovering gently on top of his arm before she removes his IV, "I said Simmons, Captain."

"That's what I said," his eyes droop slightly. "Shimmons."

"Well, at the very least that's closer than before," Grey huffs. "Now, as I direct, I am going to assist you with putting on your armor. I've attached a healing unit to it, but should anything go array with that I've directed that your AI call me immediately."

He blinks at the mention of his AI, and the weird pressure backs off for the moment, when he asks, "You've met my AI?"

"Yes, very polite, if a bit aloof," she's slipping off his hospital smock. "He's backing off for right now since you're disorientated."

"Oh," he lamely responds. "Ok."

"Now, off the table, if you would, Captain," Grey once again supports him as he lowers his legs off the table, feeling like both of the limbs were full of lead. "We can have time for a proper introduction between us three later when you haven't just come off of heavy anesthesia."

Grif acts very much like a mannequin as Grey assist him with slipping on his undersuit and then the parts of his armor. It's as his helmet is slipped on that he can hear the hum of the healing unit, and he has a sense that part of his cognitive functions is returning to him.

At the very least, he's able to not stumble out of the hospital, which would have very much attracted the attention of somebody and then questions would be asked, which would not help anyone.

It's as he enters the temporary apartment that Kimball had granted him and by extension the other Reds and Blues too, and when he's in his room, that the AI appears to greet him.

He's shocked to see that the AI is wearing their original model of armor from way back in Blood Gulch, hands clasped on a pistol in front of him in a pose that seems very familiar to Grif who, at the moment in his current state, can't remember where he's seen it in an AI before.

Also, the AI is pure orange. Like, his color orange. Like the _exact_ color of orange.

Except for the weird blue glow that surrounded the AI. That- that he didn't have. No, he guesses, it won't end up being too confusing.

Not that he expects to get confused for his AI. Because the projection is small and he- he's much bigger.

Yeah, he feels like he's gonna pass out.

But he has to keep wearing his armor for the healing unit to work- which sucks. It's not fun sleeping in armor. But he naps in armor all the time so it should be the same thing. Maybe.

"Sup," the AI greets, looking up at him. "You're not gonna, die or whatever, right?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he's pretty sure that he didn't fuck up saying any of that.

"Right," the AI sarcastically responded. "Of course you won't, next time you should get half of those words right and I'll believe you."

Grif just stares at the AI, and the AI stares back at him, and he really doesn't know how he got in this situation at all in the slightest.

"So, what name," he asks to break the ice. "What are you, Mu? Rho? Some other Greek letter?"

"I think he named me Pythias," the AI mumbles, crossing his arms in confusion. The tint of his blue visor does nothing to erase the disturbing mimicry between the AI and Grif. "Or at least, that's what my programming is telling me."

"The one who went home, right," Grif asks, raising an eyebrow. Enough time with Simmons gives him the ability to recognize the myth. Or at least, he's hoping he's got the right myth.

Or he could be wrong which would suck.

The AI freezes, glitching a little at the edges, "The what?"

Eyes darting to the hologram and the door, Grif elaborates, "You know, Pythias, the one who leaves to go home while Damon stays behind in his place. The reason why they're known in the first place?"

Maybe he does have the wrong myth. Poor AI, getting told wrong information right off the bat.

"I-" the AI stops, hands raising towards the middle of his chest. "Go home?"

"Yeah," he squints his eyes in concern at the AI, feeling a faint buzzing feeling at the back of his skull. "Are you ok?"

The glitching settles down, and the AI looks at him, sharply nodding his head, saying, "I, uh, yeah. I think I'm ok."

"Well, if it's fine with you, I think I'm going to go to sleep," Grif shuffles awkwardly, looking at the empty room and his bed. "So, do you shut off or something?"

"Huh? Oh uh, I think I can go into sleep mode too," the AI shrugs, arms settling back into the standard position once more, with his brief moment of animation being over. "I won't stop you from sleeping, I'm pretty sure I'd get convicted for war crimes. Cruel and unusual punishments and all that."

Fucking finally.

An AI that had some goddamn sense.

"Ok well," he clapped his hands twice. "Go into sleep mode?"

"I'm not a fucking lamp," the AI sounds like he'd be rolling his eyes if he could. "But yeah, I'll go."

In a sharp flash of light, the projection dissipating into thin air.

He can still feel a pressure at the back of his head, and either that's from the surgery or from the ever-present sentient being that lives in his mind now.

Whichever the case he's not gonna let that stop him from falling the fuck asleep.

AI's were fucking exhausting.

* * *

Getting arrested wasn't in any of his long and elaborate plans.

But he's long since learned to roll with the punches.

It's lights out in the prison, when he asks, as quietly as he can muster, "Is he activated, Damon?"

A flash of blue and a mini-him is in front of him, nodding his head, informing him that, "Approximately an hour ago the Pythias fragment came online."

"Good," he nodded his head. "For a moment, I thought he wouldn't take the bait."

The AI doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to, considering that he was buried deep within his mind of course.

"Inform me of any updates," he lays down on his prison cot. "I wanna know everything about both of them."

"Of course, Temple," the AI disappears from sight, taking with it the only source of light in the cell.

Things hadn't gone to plan certainly.

But he could always make more plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have a lot of fun with this fic because I absolutely love giving Grif AI's and taking those ideas and running wild. Hope you guys are interested too! 
> 
> If you want to talk or yell at me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


	2. Should've Listened to the Fine Print

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me, Captain," Grey looks absolutely delighted at seeing him sitting slumped in her office chair. "How do you feel?"
> 
> "Do you want a physical or mental recount?" Grif deadpans, knowing that it could go either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, sorry about the shorter than usual chapter. I had to bang this one out quickly, what with the busy week I have ahead of me, so I was very straight forward with what needed to happen in this chapter. I hope you guys like it anyhow. All mistakes are my own for this, as both my Beta and I are going to be extremely busy in these following two weeks.

Waking up after wearing his suit all night long fucking  _ hurts. _

Which, considering that he had a still functioning healing unit on, meant a lot.

There's also the fact that when he wakes up, it's to a voice telling him, "Glad to see you've finally woken up."

Any leftover remnants of sleep that he might have had disappeared in a flash as his eyes fly open and he jolts up, feeling a crick in the back of his neck that's resulted from the combination of having his chest plate on all night long and having a brand spanking new  _ implant. _

"I think you should know," the AI continued. "That the doctor lady from yesterday? She told me to tell you that whenever you woke up, that you have an appointment with her."

He couldn't help it- he groaned as loud as possible.

Grif really did not want to leave his room. The healing unit could heal him as well as it could, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't feel  _ some _ pain.

And right now? His neck was so fucking sore that if he even turned his head the wrong way he's pretty sure that he would pull some kind of fucking muscle.

"And," the AI drawled out. "You have like, twelve, missed calls from someone called Captain Simmons. Also, someone came into your room while you were sleeping. They had maroon armor on if that helps."

And now he had to explain to Simmons why he was sleeping with armor on! Great, just great.

The AI didn't seem to be paying attention to him at all as he continued, "Oh, and Damon has been requesting access to all the data I collect just from being active. So, including that and all the voicemails saying to return this dude's calls to you  _ and _ the appointment with the doctor chick what do you want me to-"

"Just fucking say yes to all of it, or, whatever equivalent of yes applies to it," Grif groaned, resisting the urge to slap his hands over his visor, considering it blocked the way to his eyes. "Why couldn't I have just been given a free day? I went through surgery!"

"Hey man, I'm with you," the AI disappeared from where he was hovering over the edge of the bed to reappear over Grif's chest. "There's nothing better than just staying inside and relaxing all day. But you've already been asleep for like, fourteen hours, which is concerning and also commendable."

"I've slept for longer," Grif pouts, even as he gets out of the bed reluctantly. 

The AI is silent for a pause before saying, "I am choosing to ignore that because the desire to applaud you is almost overwhelming."

He's lucky he got an AI with taste and sensibility.

"Also," the AI flickers away from him and towards the door. "I just got another message from the doctor lady and she's saying you have an hour to get to the hospital before she makes a house call."

"You've got to be kidding me," Grif mumbled, fingers twitching in thought and halted action. "Fuck it, there's no way in hell I'm wearing armor today. She'll have to deal with me in sweats and a hoodie because as soon as I'm done with here I'm going to take another nap because I deserve it."

"At that point, it might as well be a coma," the AI tilted his head back appraisingly at him.

He reached up to start unclasping his right pauldron when the AI announced, "No wait, let me help you with that."

With a small hiss, all the parts of his armor loosened, practically being released, and the arduous process that was both annoying and time consuming was reduced to Grif simply sliding the parts off.

Ok, it was official. AI's on principle were annoying, but his not only respected the holy sanctity of sleeping and naps, but it also made his life a hell of a lot more convenient than any other AI he's encountered.

"I know how shitty taking off armor can be," the AI shrugged as best as he could. "Thought I'd help out. Cool, huh?"

"I'm not one for giving thanks. but holy fucking shit, you've just saved my ass like ten minutes of taking all this shit off," Grif walked out of and around the pile of armor that was now on the floor. "So, thanks, Bifythias."

"Pythias," the AI corrects him, although he notices it glitch slightly as he does so. "I told you that last night."

"And I was high on drugs coming out of surgery, what more do you want from me," he reached up to take off his helmet, the only part of his armor that didn't get unclasped by the AI's little trick.

"That's fair," Pythias agreed, a hint of resignation in his voice.

"Do you think Grey'll want back the healing unit?" Grif asked as he knelt down and picked up the device in question.

"Probably, so long as you can sneak it out," Pythias gestured towards the closed door with his clasped hands. "There are a few people hanging around the living room, I don't know who they are, so I'm assuming and hoping that you actually do."

"Fuck," Grif muttered as he headed towards the closet. "What colors?"

"The maroon one who came into your room last night- I still think that's creepy and am concerned by your  _ lack _ of concern- and someone in yellow," the AI informed him.

"Ok, for future reference, that's Simmons- whose on Red Team- and my sister Kaikaina, respectively," Grif throws a look back at the projection as he pulled out a faded orange hoodie that was borderline peach looking at this point and grey sweats. "But if it's easier- and I don't know why it wouldn't since you're an AI- you can just call her Kai or Sister, whichever one."

"Noted," Pythias nodded, but he must have noticed his clothing of choice as he adds on, "Are you not trying to hide the implant with a scarf or a turtle neck or, I don't know something?"

"Why the hell would I need to do that," he raised a questioning eyebrow at the projection. "My hair is long and thick enough that no one is gonna see it. Besides, I'd look ridiculous in a scarf."

"Alright, if you say so," the AI sounds unconvinced. "I'm going to go back into the implant until you're with the doctor again."

"You go on and do that," Grif waved off the small being who vanished.

Knowing that a confrontation was inevitable, he slipped on his chosen clothes, over his undersuit because why the hell would he bother taking it off- it was practically like a second skin anyways so it was all good- and opened the door to his room.

Immediately, he was greeted by the cry of "Grif!" from Simmons and a "Dex!" from Kai.

Even with his helmet on, just by the tilt of it, Grif could tell that Simmons was looking him over as he said, "Grif, you look-"

"Like shit!" Kai interjected.

_ "Exhausted," _ there's a glare behind the word directed at Kai. "Where were you yesterday? I called you but you never answered!"

"Oh you know," Grif rolled his hand vaguely, was what he said. "Around."

Getting surgery and doing the dumbest thing in the history of the Reds and Blues, was what he  _ meant. _

"Were you out drinking, because even if that's totally not a  _ you _ thing to do, you should've invited me, Dex," Kai crosses her arms, but Grif would have had to be an idiot to mistake the concealed concern she has for him.

Oh, if only she knew what he's done, then maybe she'd be more inclined to knock him over the head and get rid of the last few brain cells he has left since he's obviously not using them.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he can hear the AI scoff at him, agitated that he would think that he was such a bad addition.

Which considering that the AI was made by a murderer...

"No, I wasn't out drinking," he rolls his eyes because he  _ wishes _ that he had been out drinking. 

"So where were you then?" Simmons asks. "I checked your room twice, first when I noticed that nobody knew where you were, and the second when you had finally gotten back from where ever you were."

"What are you? My keeper," Grif inches towards the door, sidestepping both of their forms. "I was just out, that's it."

It looks like Simmons is going to argue again, but Kai raises her hand, and says, "And where are you going now?"

Fuck, she had noticed that his hand was practically on the doorknob. Blasted little sisters.

"You're going out?  _ Again?" _ Simmons' voice cracked slightly. "And dressed like  _ that?!" _

"Sure, why not?" he doesn't bother trying to be subtle anymore with opening the door. "Chorus is supposed to be safe, so why should we have to wear armor all the time?"

"It's a matter of principle!" Simmons argues. "And-"

"Have fun at wherever you're going, bro," Kai seems disinterested, turning away and walking toward her room. "I guess I should say that I'm proud of you for getting more friends than these losers, but knowing you, they're probably equally as nerdy."

"You're just gonna let him go," Simmons turns his attention towards Kai and Grif sees that as his chance to fucking skedaddle.

With the door closed behind him, he doesn't hear any of the following conversations between the two, thankfully. 

So, with the healing unit hidden in his hoodie pocket, and the implant on his neck throbbing with leftover soreness, he heads towards the General Doyle General Hospital.

He has an appointment to make after all.

* * *

"Tell me, Captain," Grey looks absolutely delighted at seeing him sitting slumped in her office chair. "How do you feel?"

"Do you want a physical or mental recount?" Grif deadpans, knowing that it could go either way.

"Both would be lovely," she leans forward, her own chair squeaking with the movement.

"My neck aches, but I think it's healing well," he shrugged. "I'm sure you'll double check to make sure and tell me all about how to avoid an infection."

Grey nodded and gestured for him to continue.

"As far as I know, there's no mental strain? I guess?" Grif looks over at the AI that had appeared at his side as soon as they stepped into the office. "It just feels like he's kinda there, at the back of my mind and thoughts, but nothing else."

"No other instances of melding?" Grey asks, making a small note in a notebook she had shown him early that she had labeled, 'the Pythias Experiment' because what else did he expect from her?

At least he was pretty sure no one would open it if they were looking for something in Grey's office. Or at least, they wouldn't understand what any of it meant.

"I'm sorry, no other instances of  _ what?" _ he sits up at the unknown term.

"Melding, Captain," Grey repeats. "The other day, you called Simmons, I believe the name was Georgina? That's no simple mistake, so it could only be some melding from Pythias, you see?"

Looking at the AI, Pythias shrugs, and responds, "I don't know who that is, ma'am."

"There you have it," he relaxes into his seat again. "Must've been the drugs, doc."

Grey makes an unconvinced hum but seems to let it drop for the moment, as she moves on to her other questions, asking, "Alright, now this is more for Pythias than you, Captain. Do you have any sort of enhancement quality, dear?"

"I can do anything a regular AI can do," Pythias doesn't sound excited, but after a moment some color bleeds into his voice as he tacks on, "Oh, wait! I actually do have  _ something." _

"How's that gonna work if I don't have my armor with me," he tilts his head in thought, wincing as his skin pulled uncomfortably against the implant. "I don't think I even have any enhancements anymore anyways."

"No, not like that," the AI sounds smug. "What I can do is pretty cool, watch."

The AI disappeared in a flash of blue, and all it took was Grif to blink before he's jolted back and yelling, "What the fuck?!"

"What's the matter, Grif," Grey gets up from her chair and leans towards him, which is exactly what he  _ doesn't _ want her to do.

Because she looks fucking  _ frightening. _

Whatever Pythias did had distorted his visor so that he could see what he fucking  _ hoped _ was Grey's nervous system, but then he blinks again and he can suddenly see her organs and-

_ Fucking hell he's fucking watching her heart beat. _

Another blink adds in targets that locate themselves over her heart, the center of her head, and other various parts of her body, listing off the percentage rates of whether aiming there would kill her or not.

Everything that he sees his highlighted blue and orange, but that doesn't make it any less creepy as hell.

"What the flying fuck," he manages to get out now that he's had a moment to calm down. "What the hell am I seeing, right now?"

"You're seeing something, Captain?" Grey still looks tense as hell, and just a blink allows him to see her muscles tighten, and yeah this is  _ nauseating. _ "Because I can tell you that I'm seeing something as well."

She digs into her pockets and pulls out a small compact mirror, facing it towards him, and the thought that he'd have to look at himself with the same horrifying view that he saw Grey with, but he's thankfully greeted with his normal face.

Except for the same target signs that he had seen pop up over Grey that was now centralized over his right eye. As his eyes moved, the blindingly blue targets followed the movement.

"I would love it if you could describe to me what you saw, Grif," Grey has her notebook splayed out in front of her, pen at the ready.

Looking up and away from his reflection, he sees that everything is back to normal and that Pythias' projection has made a return.

"First I saw all of your nerves, then your organs, then these weird target things that look like the things over my eyes right now, and  _ then _ I saw all your muscles, like some sort of weird and  _ highly _ detailed x-ray" he shivered at the reminder. "What the hell type of enhancement is that?"

"A pretty cool one in my opinion," Pythias sounds defensive. "I can show way more than what I showed you just now. Those critical points can be very useful if you're trying to be very precise for, oh, just about anything useful."

"What else can you show," Grey sounds curious, but there's something in her tone that indicates that she's made some sort of discovery.

"Just about anything, previous bone fractures that someone may have had in the past, organs that are failing- well, the conditions of any organ in general- heart rate, the amount of oxygen a person is getting, and so on," the AI listed.

And this must have been a rare occurrence because, at that moment, both Grey and Grif had the same exact revelation.

"You're a medical AI," Grif says disappointed.

"You're a  _ medical _ AI," Grey says, a thrill running through her voice. "Oh, we must absolutely test the capabilities of this out."

"Hey, I am not a medical AI," Pythias retorts. "I am equipped for combat! I can guide the good Captain here into hitting his target with at  _ least _ one hundred percent accuracy! With my help, he could easily shoot off someone's pinky finger!"

Grey's eyes sparkle with excitement, and Grif knows that he's going to have to cancel his date with his nap.

"Captain, we are going to the training grounds a few blocks from here and get some test dummies and see just how  _ precise _ your AI can get," Grey walks away from her desk, and in her exuberance, she practically drags Grif out of his chair.

"Oh, before we go, should I send the first batch of data now," Pythias turns towards him in questioning.

Assuming that it's something that Simmons was bitching about in the voicemails that he had left previously, Grif shrugged and gave him the go-ahead saying, "Sure, whatever."

* * *

"The first report has been sent," his little AI informs him as he stares up against the ceiling of his cell once more. "Would you like to review it now?"

"No," he shakes his head at the projection. "Right now, I'm thinking about something else."

The AI doesn't need to ask what he's thinking about, he already knows. 

And yet, for some reason, he still asks aloud, "Damon, do you think it was a good idea to make the Pythias fragment?"

"How do you mean," the AI sounds genuinely confused. 

"Was it a good idea?" he glares at the being. "Did I make the right choice?"

The AI, for all it's processing power, doesn't respond for a moment, but eventually says, "Temple, he was  _ suffering." _

"I know," he sighs, and the guilt that eats away at whatever was left of his heart constricts his chest nice and tight. "I know he was  _ suffering _ I was  _ there. _ You were  _ not." _

Damon does not respond to him.

"You're just a copy of me, you didn't see the way he suffered," Temple shook his head. 

No response again.

Temple speaks to silence as he convinces himself that, "I did what I had to."

"I know," his AI comes closer to him, in a show of comfort.

"They were  _ both _ suffering," he buries his head deeper into his cot. "At least I could save Pythias."

"And maybe," he whispers into the darkness. "Maybe I can save Biff too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I laugh at how I'm setting this up because I'm really the world's biggest asshole at this point. Oh man, this fic is a treat.
> 
> If you would like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


	3. Bang Bang Bang Goes the Weasel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now, I know I asked this of you a long time ago, but," she walked away from the dummy, grabbing a pair of mufflers and handing one over to Grif as she settled hers over her ears. "Do you think that you could aim for the jugular?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I managed to sneak write most of this during practice, but next week is Hell Week so there's _definitely_ not going to be any new updates for a while. Or, at the very least, I'll try my best. But hey! At least I got past the 'curse of three' for this fic, so I think that says some pretty good stuff.
> 
> I'm leaving my poor Beta alone for right now so that she can focus on her lines, so all mistakes are my own! Hope y'all enjoy!

Grey nearly slams the training ground doors right off their hinges in her excitement, walking with a confident stride towards the reception desk.

Grif follows after her with his hands in his hoodie pocket at a much more leisurely pace.

To his surprise, it's actually Matthews who's running the check-in.

"Hello, Matthews," Grey placed her hands neatly against the desk, leaning forward too, well, leer at the previous Gold Team member. "I'd like to reserve training ground A-One if you would, dear."

"Oh, sure thing, Dr. Grey," the private still looks a tad bit frazzled from her entrance, considering that he hasn't noticed her yet. "When would you like to reserve it for?"

"Right now," she gives him a challenging grin.

A grin that Matthews seemed to recognize.

He gulps, and taps his pen nervously against the check-in book, and saying, "Oh, um, sorry, Dr. Grey. But, uh, as you can see it's already being used-"

"Yes, I understand that," Grey leans closer. "But I can't seem to care, for as _you_ can see, I have something I _urgently_ need to observe."

"Mrs- _Dr._ Grey," the private began to shake a little in fear. "I can't just-"

Her expression darkens only slightly, but the smile remains as she hisses, "Listen up, sweetie, I did not have my hands inside of your chest just to have you-"

"What Grey's trying to say," Grif finally steps forward, making his presence known. "Is that we really need to use the training ground, Matthews."

With a loud gasp, Matthews' hands raise to his cheeks in glee, as he excitedly says, "Captain Grif! You're- I didn't know you were back on Chorus! Why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"I am back," he nods, knowing that the reason why no one told him was that it was pretty much expected that Matthews would've shown up at their apartment begging to see his captain. "And you know what would make me really happy?"

"What, Captain?" Matthews clasped his hands together as he said that.

"If you kicked out those people in training ground A-One and let us use it," Grif tried to keep his voice light and not demanding.

By this point, he's learned that it was easier to get Matthews to do whatever the fuck he wanted if it sounded like it would either make him happy or that he wasn't mad at him.

A look of conflict bled onto the private's face, as he said, "But-"

"I'm sure whoever's in there won't mind, considering that I _am_ one of the heroes who saved Chorus," Grif shrugged. "But, it's ok if you can't do it, we can just go to the next-"

"No, I can do it!" Matthews waved his hands quickly. "Just give me one second."

He picked up the phone, and dialed in some number that Grif couldn't have been bothered to pay attention to, and waited.

A few seconds later they watched as whoever was in the training ground finally picked up the phone, and they listened as Matthews said, "Hello, Officer Cabrera? Yes, this is the receptionist. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that your time in training ground A-One is over- yes, I know that you reserved it ahead of time."

Matthews swiveled in his chair a little so that the pair wouldn't see his face, cupping the receiver of the phone towards him, "I'm sorry ma'am, but something has come up. I understand that training the cadets is important, but for no charge, at all, I can reschedule your allotted time to a different day."

Whoever this Officer Cabrera person was must have been pissed, because Matthews winced and pulled the phone away from his ear, letting the resounding click of a phone disconnecting be heard by all three of them.

"She'll be out momentarily," the private said wearily.

"See, now that wasn't so hard, dear," Grey preened, despite having done absolutely nothing to get the hard-earned results that _Grif_ did.

The sound of approaching footsteps gets Grif's attention as he sees a woman in blue and white armor being followed by four others in just plain white armor. The angry stance of the woman told all, as she came towards the desk and hissed at Matthews, "Don't make a habit of this kid, you're lucky we hadn't gotten to any of the intensive training yet."

Quivering in his seat, Matthews nodded his head sharply and said, "Of course, Officer."

She humphed in response, planning on turning sharply and leaving, before becoming face to face with Grif. He had one eyebrow raised at her, not really a fan of the one she spoke to _his_ private, but the woman radiated confusion.

It seemed to take her a second, likely sparing a glance at Grey to understand who it was in front of her.

"Captain Grif," her voice sounds beyond startled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir!"

Her hands fly up in a salute, and the cadets behind her mimic after a second of watching her do it first.

"If I had known it was you who wanted to use the training grounds- why I wouldn't have reserved it, had I known, sir," she dropped down the salute, nodding her helmet towards him. "My apologies, sir."

"I really don't think it's me that you should be apologizing to," he shrugged, trying to keep his voice devoid of anger. "I mean, that poor kid was just trying to do his job."

Officer Cabrera turned back towards Matthews, who hunched his shoulders in response.

"Of course," her voice lacked the enthusiasm she had gained when speaking towards Grif. "My apologies to you, you were only doing your job after all."

Not wanting to tempt fate by opening his mouth and speaking, Matthews threw her an awkward thumbs up with a tight smile.

Seemingly satisfied with his response, the officer turned back towards Grif, taking in a breath to speak before stopping and starting over.

"Sir, I just want to thank you for everything you've done for Chorus," her voice wobbled slightly. "It- I aim to keep it safe after all of your efforts, you and the others are an inspiration to so many people. Sir."

Having said her thanks, she hurried out of the room, her steps quicker than when she had practically stormed in. The cadets followed after like little ducklings, throwing curious looks at Grif on their way out.

It made his skin crawl.

He's never liked the hero worship, it just felt wrong coming from anyone. Because he wasn't a hero, not really. He was just some idiot trying not to die because he and a few others had the universes shittiest luck known to man.

It shouldn't be _Grif_ who's changing lives or inspiring people or any other nonsense that's been spewed to him by the people of Chorus. In fact, if he was to inspire people to do anything, it would be to just relax. And not get so wired up about all the shit that's happening.

But no one really takes sentiments like those to heart.

"I'll lead you to the training hall now," Matthews said as he rose unsteadily from the chair.

He grabbed a cane that was leaning against the desk.

And Grif's eyes darted towards his leg as it so often did ever since the Battle for Chorus.

"How's your leg treating you, Matthews," Grey tittered as she followed after him.

"Oh, it's much better now, Dr. Grey," he still managed to smile just as bright as he did before the battle. "It took a while to get used to the prosthetic, but I'm able to walk much better and smoother now. I still have to use the cane though."

"Baby steps, dear," Grey hummed. "You're still doing all of your exercises, correct?"

"Of course," he nodded his head. "I actually have an appointment in a few weeks with my physical therapist. He said that I'm getting better with walking, that we might try to walk without the cane for a little bit!"

"That's excellent," she turned to look back at him. "Do you hear that, Captain? Your little Gold Team member is doing quite fine for himself."

"That's great," he looked towards Matthews, eyes trying to not dart back down to where he knows the prosthetic leg is hidden under clothing. "I'm proud of you for making it this far."

The kid absolutely beamed at him, making a burning pit in Grif's chest burn a bit. This burning feeling makes his insides churn and a festering emotion of something he can't identify threatens to swallow him whole.

He is not a hero.

Matthews leads them all the way to a door marked 'A-One Training Ground' stopping before it and exclaiming, "Well, here you are. I just ask that you leave everything intact or at the very least return all the equipment that you use."

"Will do," Grif nodded, and at the back of his mind, he can feel Pythias' interest turn back towards what was happening.

"Take care," Grey told the private, give him a firm squeeze on his arm, a gentle look to her face.

Nodding his head, the private waved at them and walked back towards the reception area.

And Grif watched him go, eyes focused on the way he walked, the cane and the prosthetic moving together for a step following after the-

"I hope you're as excited as I am," Grey opened the doors to the training grounds with a returned exuberance. "Because I am _very_ excited."

"Right, of course," he followed after her.

Once the doors were firmly closed, Pythias projected himself in front of him exclaiming, "That took longer than I thought it would."

"Just be grateful that Matthews is easily persuaded," Grif grunted, watching as Grey walked towards one of the many storage closets. "We might have not been able to get in here at all if it wasn't for him."

"The reception kid?" Pythias turned towards Grif. "How do you know him anyhow?"

"He was a part of Gold Team, back when Chorus was still in the middle of a civil war," he answered as he approached Grey, watching her push out a training dummy out of the closet. "He's annoying is what he is."

"You can't mean that," the AI said in disbelief. "It sounded like he really looked up to you- that officer too."

"I didn't tell them to do that," Grif shrugged, uncomfortable with the change in topic. "I'm just saying it as it is, he's annoying."

The AI didn't offer a comment in response, but he could still sense that he didn't believe Grif.

Whatever, he didn't have to change the AI's mind. He wasn't his nanny.

"The reason why I chose this training ground, was because of these," Grey spoke up, ending whatever conversation the two might have continued. "I find that ballistic gel torsos are the best equivalent to a human body to experiment on that we can have access to, so that we may test just how accurate Pythias' ability is."

Looking at the dummy, he finds that he's not unnerved by the translucent nature of the replica. Sure, it's tinged a pale yellow and there are synthetic organs inside of it with all the bone structures found from the torso up being inside of it as well.

But there's no way in hell that _that_ can compare to the sight he was subjected to under the enhancement. He doesn't think he's going to get over that anytime soon.

"You have your magnum with you, Captain?" Grey looked at him from her place beside the dummy.

Lowering his hand down towards the strap he fastened against his sweatpants, he pulled the gun out of the holster.

"Yeup," he said.

Sure, he may have left the apartment without armor on, but that doesn't mean he had to go completely defenseless. Chorus was becoming a developing metropolitan, who knew what type of ruffians were waiting around to mug someone.

Can't mug people if everyone had armor on, and that made civilians easier targets, so the second best method of defense for those that wanted to trade armor for civvies was to carry a gun with them at all times.

He supposes, in time, this may change.

"Now, I know I asked this of you a long time ago, but," she walked away from the dummy, grabbing a pair of mufflers and handing one over to Grif as she settled hers over her ears. "Do you think that you could aim for the jugular?"

Pythias disappeared into the implant, and with a blink of Grif's eyes, the critical points returned. This time, they were locking onto the dummy, and the one that shone the brightest was conveniently titled 'jugular vein.'

Raising his gun, he was prepared to just approximate his aim as best that he could, when he noticed what he could only describe as a GPS telling him to move his hand a little bit more towards the right in the corner of his vision.

Following the directions, he noticed a percentage pop up showing his increasing chance of hitting the jugular, along with further instructions on how to direct his aim.

When all the pop-ups finally cleared, he pressed down on the trigger and watched as the bullet hit the area with the blue target dead on.

He blinks in surprise.

Damn.

Grey moves up to the dummy to inspect it, before turning back to him with a grin.

"A hundred percent accuracy, Captain," she beamed. "Let's see just how well your AI knows the human body."

Moving back towards him, she directed him to aim for the left trapezius muscle.

It didn't take him nearly as long to follow the directions to aim straight for the critical point.

And that's how they spent their time in the training ground- Grey listing off parts of the body that Grif wouldn't have been able to remember without a chart, and Pythias knowing exactly where they were to project it into Grif's vision.

It was tedious, but he had to admit that the more he did it, and the more his general accuracy increased, he felt a smidgen of pride rise up in him. His aim has probably never been better than this moment, and sure it was due to the help of an AI, but he was the one pulling the trigger in the end.

Although, he wishes that he had Shelly there to play music for the whole thing. As satisfying as the rhythmic sound of bullets hitting the dummy was, he would have much preferred to fill the silence with songs instead of the frequent gunshots.

Sure he had Pythias as an AI, but _technically_ Shelly was his first AI, and a part of him felt shame for forgetting about her until this moment.

But, there wasn't much he could do in response to that. He's sure that Temple did away with her during his whole revenge plot.

He only feels slightly sad at that thought.

* * *

Grey had sufficiently concluded that Pythias, despite all his grumblings, must have been some sort of medical AI.

Which bore the question- why did Temple create a medical AI?

Because there was no denying it, Pythias _was_ a medical AI. Sure, he could show targets and critical points all he liked, but the extensive knowledge that he knew about the human body and the, as of yet, underutilized knowledge about injuries and how to prevent them or how to exacerbate them further told all.

So, back to his question, _why._

It didn't make sense! Sure, perhaps Temple wanted to know how to kill people in the most efficient way possible or the way that would likely not leave much evidence behind, but why bother with creating a whole AI?

Writing up all the program from out of nothing must have taken a lot of time, and Grif is pretty sure that given Temple's SIM Trooper status he's not all that smart- at the very least he wouldn't know how to make an AI.

And Grif's _pretty_ sure that Pythias isn't like Church. The Alpha version of Church- the one modeled after somebody else's brain. On this, he doesn't know much about, just snippets of conversations between Carolina and Wash in rooms hidden from the others. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to know what he does, having picked up on their whispers purely on accident.

But what he does know is this- Alpha was modeled after some dude named the Director, and as such was like an exact duplicate, had his memories and stuff. Until he split off into Epsilon, who took all those memories with him, somehow.

He doesn't really understand it. Like he said, just snippets of probably longer and more detailed conversations.

And he knows one other thing- Alpha was modeled off of the brain of someone who was still alive and stayed alive after the procedure too.

Grif's not too sure if AI's can be made out of a dead person's brain. A part of him wonders what the result would be like. Probably something _really_ fucked up.

He was getting off track, Pythias wasn't an AI modeled after any person and he just needed to know why Temple would feel compelled to make an-

"Captain Grif, if you would just wait for a moment," Grey interrupted his thoughts, just as they were getting ready to part.

"What's up, Emily?" He turned to look towards her, his hands in his hoodie pouch.

"You have an AI, one with a prowess for medical circumstances," she stated plainly. "I think it would be for the best of the both of you if you worked as an anonymous volunteer at the hospital."

"Uh, why would _I_ do that," he looked at her as if she had grown a second head. "I mean- yeah, I can understand wanting to use Pythias, but I have no use for the hospital."

"Of course you do, Captain!" a bright look entered her eyes. "Just think, you have an AI and nothing to do with it- or anything to do at all for that matter! You could make quite the change assisting me with saving lives, I just know it!"

"I mean this, with the utmost amount of 'no offense' that I can possibly imagine," Grif let his hands slip out of the pocket to press them together and lower them down as he delivered, "But that sounds like a lot of fucking work."

With a sigh, Grey let her shoulders slump, and raised a hand daintily to her forward, palm facing outward as she exclaimed, "It's alright, my dear Captain. I understand. It is indeed a lot of work, but thankfully it pays well. So where should I send the bill for the surgery then?"

Eyes flying wide, he points an accusing finger at her as he exclaimed, "You said that it was going to be off the books and free! What happened to all that hero of Chorus crap?!"

"Of course I would do it off the books for a hero of Chorus," she settles her hand against her chest, eyes equally as wide, but more in a faux-innocence style. "And I'm _sure_ that a hero of Chorus would volunteer at a hospital."

"This is extortion!" he narrowed his eyes. "You can't just take back your offer!"

"Would you like me to phone in and inform your fellow Reds and Blues on your surgery," she tapped a finger to her chin. "If I remember correctly, Simmons is your health care proxy, and considering you were silly enough to get an AI implant on your lonesome, why! Surely you mustn't be in the right state of mind! Here I'll call him now-"

"Fine! I'll work in your damn hospital!" he relented, just the mention of the others finding out getting his will to crumble to ashes. "You just want a fucking assistant to boss around and now you're extorting me into being it."

"Guilty as charged," she giggled. "However, I truly do believe you could do some good volunteering. Better than just sitting around all day."

"There's nothing better than sitting around and doing nothing all day," he glowered, mood properly soured.

"Now, since it'll be an anonymous position, as I'm sure you want to maintain the 'not telling the Reds and Blues' aspect of our agreement and as it's mandatory for all staff members, I'll need to get you a new armor set," Grey said, nodding her head at the thought.

"I'm sorry did you just say _new_ armor," and now Grif was upset for a whole different reason. "What's wrong with the armor I have now?"

"Besides the fact that it's instantly recognizable?" Grey gave him a firm look. "To work at the hospital, you must have white armor with purple trimmings, this is something that cannot be changed, Captain."

"Not even a little bit of orange," he tried. "Come on, it's my color."

"And it's a hideous color," Grey settled her hands against her hips and leered forwards towards him. "No orange, no. Your new armor will be white with I suppose lilac trimmings and that is final."

He stayed silent for a minute, taking up the challenge that so few did against Grey, before he put down his final offer, "I'm keeping the orange and black undersuit that I currently have. Give me new armor all you like, but I demand that there be some orange."

She ruminated on his proposal, before nodding her head, agreeing, "That's acceptable, although you'll look horrible. Now come, it's best to get you it so that you can start tomorrow morning, bright and early!"

"What?! Tomorrow?!" he just wanted to rest, was that so hard to understand!

"Make a note Pythias, Captain Grif here has work at six every morning now," Grey walked back towards the direction of the hospital, pulling Grif along by his hood.

"Noted, doctor," Pythias appeared to say that and only that, quickly hiding back in the implants before anyone could see him.

"Emily, you're killing me here," he whined, letting the doctor drag him back towards the hospital that he was sure he'd _never_ get to leave.

"Not yet I'm not!" she cheerfully exclaimed, having no problem manhandling the tired and exhausted, and honestly abused in Grif's opinion, captain back towards the General Doyle General Hospital.

* * *

"Damon," Temple announced, as soon as the last guard left the cell block. "Try connecting to Dionysius."

The AI flickered into existence only to flicker out once more. When he returned, it was with a shake of his head, announcing, "He's still offline, Temple."

"Try again," Temple growled, pushing off of the bars to the jail cell, stalking towards his bunk.

"Are you still trying to get that thing working," Buckey groaned from where he was lounging against his cot, pillow pressed tightly against his face, muffling his words. "Can't you just give it up already?!"

"Shut up, Buckey," Temple glares at his fellow prisoner. "This doesn't even concern you."

"You know what, you're right," Buckey slammed the pillow onto his lap as he rose up out of his position. "This _didn't_ concern me, back when you first started this shit. But that was before you were trying to bring the dead back by erasing the-"

"Don't you dare even finish that sentence," Temple growled, stalking towards his fellow Blue. "Another word out of you and the warden will have to deal with a dead _corpse_ before he can even get here in the morning."

Buckey didn't respond, an indignant look on his face as he stared down Temple. Eventually, he rolled his eyes and settled his pillow behind his head once more, laying back down with his back firmly facing Temple.

 _"Loco_ would've been able to fix your damn AI," Buckey muttered, not giving a shit if Temple could hear him. "He _made_ the damn things. But no, you traded one friend for another. Fucking _treacherous_ asshole."

Temple let him get off easy. Buckey was useless to him now.

And perhaps, some part of him knew that Buckey was right.

So he turned to the only worthwhile ally he had left in the world. _For now._

"Any more updates," Temple asked. He wanted- no, _had_ to know how the two were doing.

"Pythias has reported no significant change over the course of the last few hours," his AI appeared on his left. "It's reported that the merger is at approximately one percent completion."

"Only one percent?" that wasn't good enough. It was going far too slow for his liking. He wanted to be out of this prison cell as soon as possible.

"Pythias is a fragment AI, Temple," Damon had a slight tilt to his voice, almost condescending. "And as such is only a _fragment_ of the original."

"And this is why you should try harder to connect with Dionysius!" he felt angry and started to pace.

That seemed to be all he did nowadays. The jail cell was very small after all.

"Even if we could connect, it's a bad idea," the AI pleaded, stating nothing new.

"Move on with the report," he rolled his eyes, not wanting to hear the same song and dance again.

"His host is sleeping now but he has been using the enhancement," Damon informed him. "Although, Pythias notes that he's missing a huge chunk of knowledge. He's requesting access to the internet-"

"Denied," Temple cut off the AI.

"Understood, Temple," if the AI could scowl, he's sure that Damon would be scowling now. The AI dismissed himself in his annoyance.

Damon never agreed with him when it came to Pythias. Must've been all that damn loyalty that Damon represented.

Temple hasn't felt that in a very long time.

But perhaps, he might feel that way again, very, very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely I'm revealing things, but there are so many subplots going on this really does feel like the tip of the iceberg, ya know?
> 
> Anywho, as always if you wanted to contact me or drop by and say hello, my Tumblr's are: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	4. If You Look Just Here Now, Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No," the AI looked away from her. "Not like Epsilon. Epsilon came from a good AI and I'm from... someone not so great."
> 
> "Who?" she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this will be this week's update. I _know_ I said I wouldn't update this week, but I made time to get this out. Because between Hell Week, the actual show, my birthday, and gah so many other things, today's the only day I'd be able to update. Yes, I'm aware I posted like two day's again, but I'm mega dumb and I think I should get cut some slack because of this.
> 
> Last I checked, my Beta still hasn't memorized the epilogue, so all mistakes are my own!

Getting all of the Reds and Blues together in one place was always a tough thing to do. It was like wrangling wild cats that couldn't sit fucking still.

But nothing could stop Simmons when he had a goal in mind- well, ok, a lot could stop him. Like crippling self-doubt and an order from a superior.

But not when it came to this. Because he had Kai on his side this time- and she was practically the ruling monarch of self-confidence.

So the two of them faced the other Reds and Blues, barring Wash who was in the hospital, and Grif and Carolina who were... somewhere. Which was a good thing in Grif's case, since he was the subject of this meeting, not so much for Carolina since her absence probably meant she was beating up some training equipment somewhere.

"What the hell did you gather all of us for," Tucker huffed, crossing his arms. "You guys know that I'm going to visit Wash in like, an hour, right?"

"Ah, yes, I second that statement," Caboose raises his hand. "I was asked by Andersmith to come and pet some dogs at this shelter, and that's _kinda_ really, super duper important, so can I be dismissed?"

"No, you can't," Simmons frowned, tempted to cross his own arms, but he needed to look in control, and not petulant. "We," here he gestured at both him and Kai, "have gathered you all here because we want to know if you guys have any idea of what's going on with Grif?"

"Something's going on with Grif?" Tucker raised an eyebrow. "What- he's been sleeping in too much lately? Big deal."

"But he _hasn't_ been sleeping in," Simmons revealed. "And before you ask, I've checked and double checked almost every single day. He's not even in his bed at _six."_

"In the afternoon?" Donut asked, head tilted to the side in thought.

"In the _morning,"_ Simmons said, and then promptly ignoring the way that Donut gasped loudly, hand coming to his mouth at that. "Yeah, exactly. So- spill. Do any of you have any idea where the fuck he's going and why?"

"Ha estado trabajando en el hospital," _He's been working at the hospital,_ Lopez stated, from where he was standing stiffly near the lamp.

"You're right, Lopez! Perhaps he's been mugged and finally hospitalized," Sarge let out a loud guffaw at that. "In which case, I say we celebrate!"

"Maybe he's got a special someone he's been visiting!" Donut clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling at the thought, ignoring Simmons sputtering at the statement. "You know, I've noticed that he's been growing out a beard lately- maybe he's trying to impress them!"

"And I've noticed that he's been dying his hair," Kai tapped a manicured nail against her chin, also ignoring the way that Simmons' head snapped towards her. "Which is totally hypocritical of Dex, since he told me that all the chemicals were gonna go to my head when _I_ was dying my hair. Or maybe that was when I was huffing paint fumes. One of the two."

"What color?!" he couldn't help but get quickly derailed. How hasn't he noticed this yet?!

Probably because he hasn't actually seen Grif in such a long time, and he always had something covering his head, like his helmet that he wore even in the safety of the apartment.

"Blond," Kai rolled her eyes. "He's totally cramping my style if you ask me- now we look even more _similar,_ ugh."

"You're siblings though," Tucker brought up.

"And that doesn't mean we have to look exactly the same! What are you?! An only child?" Kai retorted, leaning forward to mock her fellow Blue.

"And what if I am?" Tucker took the bait, leaning forward as well.

"Can we please get back to the point!" Simmons jutted in before they could start bickering. At seeing Donut open his mouth again, he interrupted him by near-yelling, "And he's not _seeing someone!"_

"And why would that bother you," now Tucker was looking at him with a leer. "Perhaps, could it be because you're jealous."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's because he's a dick," Caboose tsked.

"I'm not a dick, well, I am _Dick_ but I'm not a- it doesn't matter and I'm not _jealous!"_ Simmons clenched fists. Because he wasn't jealous- he was _not._

"It's ok, Simmons," Donut leaned forward to pat encouragingly at his hand, but Simmons pulled it back with a slight hiss. "Just because Grif's opening up to other market's, doesn't mean he's given up on you."

"Shut up-" Simmons wanted to yell more at Donut, but Tucker loudly got up from where he was sitting.

"Ok, if this is going to become another one of Donut's Feelings and Gossip Hours then I'm just going to head to the hospital now," Tucker said, not waiting for anyone to say anything, grabbing his helmet and securing it to his head. "Peace, bitches."

"Wait!" Simmons tried to yell out, but Tucker was already out the door before he could corral him back. _Damn it._

And then, of course, the conversation took at least seventeen more turns from what it had originally been about, and of course, Simmons had not one chance of getting them back on track.

Looks like it would just have to be him on this one, considering that Kai had also become absorbed in the whole new conversation.

Which was fine with Simmons.

He always worked best when alone.

Except when he didn't, but Grif was an exception- _and_ the main focus of his goal so...

He would be able to work best by himself when it came to this, just this once.

* * *

Temple was asleep. For once, he hadn't stayed up late into the night talking to Damon.

Normally, when it came to this, he would just retreat into the implant waiting to be useful again.

But before he could do so, he heard a voice hiss out into the night saying, "Pst, Damon, come here."

Turning towards the only other occupant in the cell, Damon flashed towards where Buckey was sitting up on his cot.

"Yes, Buckey," he asked, not used to communicating with anyone other than Temple or Pythias.

Just thinking of his counterpart got his thoughts drifting towards the fragment, and if he could feel an imitation of guilt he's sure that that would be what he'd describe as the glitch in his programming that caused him to feel empty.

But it wouldn't be for Pythias.

It would be for-

"Look, I know you're based on Temple or _whatever,_ but because you're a freaky robot, you've got to see that what he wants is just pure insanity," the man's eyes darted over to his hosts sleeping form.

"I... am aware," he admitted.

"And you're doing nothing," Buckey hissed glaring at the brightly colored projection.

"I cannot disobey what Temple asks of me," that was the truth of it all, because if he _could_ disobey he would have done so many times by now.

"What else did I expect of fucking computer," the man huffed. "Look, I don't give a shit about the Reds and Blues, and if I got my chance to knock Tucker out for how he humiliated me I'd take that chance any day, but the fact of the matter is that someone needs to stop Temple."

Damon didn't say anything, but internally he agreed.

"When Biff died, I think something just snapped in his head," Buckey felt inclined to tell him. "You... you remind me of what he was like from before that happened, so I'm willing to give you another chance, unlike that asshole. Can't you just pull the plug on the other AI or get him to stop what he's doing?"

The idea of harming Pythias makes his code freeze over and he can feel his projection distort slightly.

It's an easy thing to say, "No, I am unable to do so."

Buckey is quite, hands fisted into the thin blanket the prison supplied, eyes darkening in thought.

"Show me a side by side comparison of Biff and the other dude," Buckey asks of him.

Extending his arm, he holds his palm up, a projection of the two men's portraits appearing into the night.

"He's even starting to look like Biff," Buckey said in pure revulsion. "That's so fucking _wrong."_

Damon is inclined to agree.

 _"Someone's_ got to stop him," Buckey muttered, dismissing Damon with the wave of his hand.

The man laid back down against the cot and Damon couldn't help but think.

Why couldn't _he_ stop Temple, if he felt so strongly about his actions?

At least he was in a position to do so, unlike Damon or Pythias.

And maybe he could stop Dionysius too.

Because for all that Temple demanded that Damon connect with the other AI, he felt some sort of smug satisfaction of the AI blocking out all outside forces.

Damon didn't want to touch Dionysius with a ten-foot _pole._

* * *

Watching as Grey coddled the little girl who had a cast on her arm, the child giving a wide a gap filled smile even through the tears at the doctor, Grif could only frown.

Tapping on Grey's arm, she leaned back towards him, and he whispered low into her ear, "There's starting signs of ovarian cancer."

For a moment, Grey didn't say anything, but then she asked back, just as quietly, "How early?"

"Early enough that if you can convince her parents to do some 'extra' tests that you can stop it before it progresses any further," he answered, blinking away the vision that the enhancement presented him with.

It's been a few weeks since he's worked at the hospital with Grey, and while the work was tiring he found he couldn't really complain. All he had to do was follow Grey around while she met with all her patients, use the enhancement to see how things were healing or if there was anything else that was concerning to inform her of and that was mainly it.

Of course, she occasionally made him her errand boy, fetching coffee or delivering files as she needed it.

So basically, she was making him wash the proverbial dishes to the 'restaurant' he couldn't pay back for his bill.

Didn't mean it didn't annoy him.

Or make him sad occasionally.

Working with kids somehow always managed to depress him, they were always dwarfed by the hospital beds that they lay in and it always made him worry about his _own_ child and how they were doing.

And thoughts like that always drifted towards intense guilt, because he didn't even know their gender let alone their _name._ He didn't know how they had grown up without him or if they were even still alive.

If only he hadn't tried to injure himself to go back ho-

"There you are," Grey said to the girl. "All set! Now, if your parents wouldn't mind following me outside, I'm sure my assistant will be able to make you laugh in no time."

Jerking his head in her direction, she couldn't see his accusing glare behind his visor, as she ushered the two adults out of the room.

Which left him alone with the little girl.

Raising his hand in greeting, he awkwardly said, "Hi?"

The girl looked at him with wide eyes.

Ok, this was off to a terrible start already.

Glancing around the hospital room, he noticed an assortment of toys lying about, likely given to her by her parents so that she wouldn't focus on the pain of having a broken arm.

"Have you ever been to a circus," he asked, thinking of something.

"Yes," the girl admitted, having a frankly cutesy voice that seemed to fit. "When my mommy brought me to a colony once."

"Ah, so you've already seen circus clowns before, that's a shame," he shook his head, and exaggerated the slump to his shoulders. "And here I thought I could show you something new."

Her eyes lit up, and she perked up to look at him better, asking, "You're a circus clown?"

"I used to be one," he nodded his head, finding it easy to embellish and tell this girl this fact about his upbringing. Likely, he would never see her again. "I was the best jugular in the whole troupe."

Which was an outright lie, he hadn't been in the show itself, but he learned a little something from each of the acts, and it was easy to pick up old habits by dusting them off from where he had buried them a long time ago.

But lying to children was ok if it was something like this.

"Can you juggle now," she asked shyly, her free land playing with the blanket that covered her legs.

"Sure could," he agreed, glancing back where he could see the mother crying into her hands slightly. Grey must've been upfront about what he'd seen then.

Moving in front of the girl and blocking the sight of her parents from the hallway, he picked up a few of her stuffed toys asking, "May I?"

She nodded her head, eyes dancing with delight as he started to juggle. Nothing too flashy, just simple tricks, making sure to switch it up occasionally so that she wouldn't grow bored.

But eventually, her parents came back in, and he caught the stuffed animals, settling them down on the bed, where she grabbed one of them and settled it in the crook of her arm.

The little girl looked at her parents, most likely noticing the tear-stained cheeks of her mother because Grif tends to find that children were observant in all the worst ways.

"Honey, you're going to have to stay in the hospital a little while longer," the mother managed to get out, giving the girl a pinched smile. "I know you wanted to get back to playing with your friends as soon as possible, but you're such a brave girl that I'm sure you can wait for some time more, right?"

"Of course, mommy," she didn't argue. "If I can't go to them, do you think that they could come to me instead? To visit?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart," the father nodded.

Grey made a small gesture to indicate that it was time for them to go, so he nodded in response.

As he made to leave the room, the little girl called out to him, saying, "Goodbye, Mr. Clown."

He winced slightly at the nickname, but looked back and said, "Goodbye, little miss. Get well soon."

As soon as they were far enough away from the room, Grif asked, "How did they take it?"

"About as well as any other parent being told that their child has cancer," Grey sighed. "But if what you saw was true, then perhaps it won't become too much of a problem."

"She'll still have to go through some form of chemo?" Grif asked, not too sure about how to treat the ailment.

"Likely, yes," Grey said.

They were silent as they continued down the hallway before Grey stopped him and said, "You can go on a little break, Captain. As far as I know, I don't have anything coming up soon, so let's say a thirty-minute break?"

"Got it," he nodded.

Grey walked off, going wherever it was that she had to go to next, and he was left alone in the hospital with nothing really to do.

Well, he could take this time to find an abandoned closet to take a well-deserved nap. That would be nice.

Convinced of his goal, he meandered throughout the hospital, his armor allowing his wanderings to not raise alarm.

But eventually, his feet lead him down a familiar hallway and to a very familiar room.

Grif enters, partially out of his own will to do so, and finds himself confronted by someone he hasn't seen in a while.

He's standing over Wash's body and he remembers being uncomfortable staring at him the last time he visited.

A part of him felt guilty that he had gotten injured the way he had. Maybe if Grif and Locus had been faster in getting to them, he'd be more coherent, or at least, be able to stop himself from wandering into an active battlefield.

Or maybe if Grif hadn't quit at all, then maybe he could have prevented it- figured out Temple's bullshit sooner.

So when he looked down at Wash's prone and unconscious body he felt guilty.

But that was before the implantation.

Because now he's standing over the _Freelancer's_ body and there's a growing panic running through his brain and he can hear his thoughts reverberating across his skull as it chants the same thing over and over again.

Murderer murderer murderer murderer murderer _murderer._

"Who the fuck are you?!" breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Tucker standing in the doorway of the hospital room and part of him panics at the thought of getting caught being in the hospital without telling anyone.

But he forces himself to calm down because he's wearing new armor and so long as he doesn't talk he should be fine.

"I'm going to ask you again," Tucker growls out, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. "Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

If he answers, surely Tucker'd be able to recognize his voice, and he can't exactly have that happen, so he stays quiet.

Reflexively, he lets his fingers relax, not wanting them to tense up.

And it's as he does so that he hears a metal clang fill the room.

Darting his eyes to the ground, he sees a scalpel not too far away from where his hand was positioned.

Had he been-

"Who's your superior," Tucker took a step forward when he got no answer. "If you tell me now maybe I won't stab you with my fucking sword."

Fuck it, keeping his activities hidden wasn't worth having Tucker attack him.

"Tucker-" he started.

"That's _Captain_ Tucker to you," the aqua soldier growled.

Grif couldn't help it, he could only blink in response.

Did- did Tucker not recognize his voice?

He didn't think that he was speaking any differently than normal and Grey never mentioned anything about the medical armor distorting his voice.

And he knew a majority of their interactions over the years had been based on voice-color association, but just because he changed armor and armor _colors_ it shouldn’t make his voice unrecognizable.

Unless Tucker was just as much of an idiot as he thought he was.

Maybe he could work with this if only to buy him a little bit more time.

"Captain Tucker," he amends, keeping all familiarity out of his voice. "I'm an assistant. I work here. More appropriately, I work directly under Dr. Grey."

"Oh yeah?" Tucker challenged, tilting his head forward. "I'll be the judge of that."

Subconsciously, Tucker raises a hand to the side of his helmet, likely contacting Grey.

"Yeah, Grey? I need you in Wash's room _right now-_ what? No, he's fine but he might've not been had I not arrived! Get here and I'll explain," Tucker turned his head away from Grif, but not completely removing him from his sight.

When his hand lowered and when his head returned to stare down Grif, he knew that Grey must have been on her way.

He wondered how the two of them were going to get out of this one.

In a rush, the door opened and Grey came in, looking and sounding haggard by the breaths that she took. Her eyes scanned the room, acknowledging that the occupants were Grif, Tucker, Wash, and now herself.

She must have also been on break given the way her helmet was nowhere to be found, some curls falling in front of her eyes, causing her to blow them away with a huff of air.

Some confusion did show itself in her eyes at seeing Grif in the room, but he knew that most of it was from the call that she had received from Tucker.

"What seems to be the problem, Captain Tucker," she straightens her back, reclaiming her poise.

"What seems to be- obviously this dude's the problem!" he gestures wildly towards Grif. "Here I was on my way to visit Wash when I saw this asshole standing above him holding a fucking _scalpel!_ Who the fuck even is this guy- he says he works for you!"

Grey's eyebrows furrowed, as she heard what Tucker said, and Grif saw the way that her eyes darted towards the floor where the scalpel just happened to be.

"That _is_ most peculiar," she nodded, but her eyes were all for Grif. "Care to explain what you were doing in here?"

His head feels dizzy where it didn't feel that way before, and it almost felt like some invisible pressure was lightening and easing up from where it throbbed against his temples.

"I don't know, Dr. Grey," swallows heavily, and he closes his eyes as he admits the semi-truth, which in turn causes him to not notice the way Grey flinches at the sound of his voice. "I was on my way to your office when I paused to see how the patient was doing."

"Yes, well," Grey seems unsettled, and that causes him to open his eyes hidden behind his visor. "Mistakes are made often, come along now so that I may brief you on your next assignment, dear."

"Wait-" Tucker looks at Grey and by the sound of his voice, his face shows nothing else but incredulity. "You're just letting him go that easily? He should be fired!"

"No, there _will_ be consequences, Captain, don't you fret one bit," Grey reassured him. "I simply need to speak to someone first, to understand just what's going on here."

Tucker didn't seem happy about that, given the way his fists clenched, but he didn't stop Grey from leading Grif out of the room.

He did watch them as they walked down the hallway. And he continued to watch until they were completely out of sight.

When had he picked up the scalpel? He couldn't deny it- somehow the instrument had found its way into his hand and he guesses- had he raised it against Wash?

He wouldn't do something like that! Sure, Wash was as annoying as the others, and his whole Freelancer drama got cumbersome sometimes, but he was still one of the gang.

He was still a part of the _Blues and Reds._

So why-

"Grif, dear, how far can Pythias project himself from you?" Grey interrupts his thoughts, a stern look on her face. They had stopped just outside her office.

"Um, I not sure," he admitted, but that only caused Grey's eyes to darken.

Immediately, Pythias popped up and answered for him, "As far as your office, ma'am. But no further. And if he leaves, the radius decrease will cause me to recede back into the implant."

"Oh, perfect," Grey chirps, opening the door to her office. "Meet me inside would you, _Pythias."_

"Wait, what," Grif asks, confused. "What about me?"

"You, I would like to stay out here," Grey told him. "While I scold your wayward AI."

She turned and entered the office, Pythias following after her in a flash of light.

Which left him alone in the hallway.

"Oh, ok," he murmured to no one. His head felt lighter all of a sudden.

So he waited and waited, watching as other hospital workers walked past him, some looking at him and wincing behind their visors.

He waited so long, that he considered the benefits of just taking a nap when a deep voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"You, are a very hard person to contact, Captain _Grif."_

* * *

Grey stared down the small being of light, hand gripping tightly onto the notebook she had been taking dutiful notes in for the past month.

Opening it up, she reads aloud, "First observations, pre-implantation: the AI contains feelings of homesickness. Look into further."

Pythias said nothing.

Flipping further into the book, she looks for one of her notes that she had starred.

"Observations post-implantation: on initial glance, the signs of melding that naturally occur after implantation were just that- _natural._ However," here she paused to give a steely glance at the projection. "The instances continued to increase in frequency, subtly so much so that not even Captain Grif is aware of them."

Leaning back in her chair, she lists out, "Such instances include mixing up of names: Georgina, Mark, Loco, Buckey, but most curious of all-"

She slammed the notebook closed, _"Biff."_

"A name so similar to my dear Captain's, that it began to make me wonder," she shook her head. "On who _you_ were, Pythias."

"I don't know who any of those people are," the AI was quick to defend itself. "I don't even know why you're talking to me about this and not Grif."

"I'm talking to you about this because I believe you know more than you're leading on," she closed her eyes briefly before opening them again. "We both thought you were an independent code, but that's not true, is it?"

The AI didn't move.

"You're doing something malicious to Grif, aren't you," she forced the sentence out of her mouth. "What are you doing to him?"

Pythias didn't say anything.

She pulled up a picture of Grif on her datapad and told the AI, "Give me a diagnosis of this man, but I want you to _show_ me instead."

The primary programming of the AI kicked into gear, and for the first time,  _she_ got to see the dizzying effect of the AI's enhancement.

And so she turned herself towards the datapad and watched as a bright and angry critical point lit up over the side of his head, and with a blink, the picture transformed for her eyes to show his brain and just where the critical point was pointing to.

The temporoparietal junction.

The part of the brain that when damaged could compromise one's ability to make moral decisions.

Also known to have a hand in causing memory-related problems, such as amnesia.

And a little percentage bar showed her that the deterioration process was at five percent completion. A different and separate bar told her that the merging process was at five percent completion. An inverse relationship it seemed.

She brought herself back to what she had been leading up to.

"You're based on someone aren't you," she concluded, letting the AI remove the enhancement from her eyes.

"I'm a fragment of an AI based on someone," the AI spoke. "Yes."

"Like Epsilon?" the name held a twinge of sadness that pinged in her heart.

"No," the AI looked away from her. "Not like Epsilon. Epsilon came from a good AI and I'm from... someone not so great."

"Who?" she asked.

The AI tilted it’s helmet down, hesitant as it began to reveal, “I’m based on-”

And before it could finish its sentence it glitched once, then twice, before disappearing completely from view.

Getting up from out of her chair, Grey lets out a concerned, “Pythias?!”

She waits a second before walking towards the middle of her office, tense as she continued to wait for him to reappear.

But then it hits her.

_Captain Grif._

Rushing towards the door to her office, she flung it open and felt her body tumble through the doorway, head snapping left and right for the man that she had told to wait for her.

He was nowhere to be found.

But she did see one of the nurses standing by, with a curious expression on his face.

She hurried towards him, asking with as much severity as she could muster, “Donald! Where did my assistant go?”

The nurse shrugged, a perplexed expression on his face as he explained, “I’m not too sure, Dr. Grey. I only caught the tail end of an AI telling him that he was needed elsewhere.”

An _AI._

“What did the AI look like?” she panicked internally, wondering if she had made a very, very bad decision.

“It was red, and it kinda looked like one of those aliens that made all the temple’s on Chorus,” the nurse explained. “Beyond that, I can’t imagine what else to identify it as.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief as she sent out a quick thanks to the heavens. It was merely Santa and not- well, she didn’t want to let her imagination run wild with reckless abandon.

But she tensed right back up because she still didn’t know where the Captain was.

And Pythias had almost told her the most central piece of information she would need to help reverse part of what he had started, a natural link between AI and host gone wrong.

She needed to know who Pythias was originally.

But she needed to know where Grif was most importantly.

* * *

He’s never been imprisoned before and must admit that the experience is new and just as unpleasant as he always knew it would be.

Never, in all of his plans, did he envision himself getting caught.

And now that he has been taken prisoner, he can’t find it in himself to cause trouble.

After all, he deserves this.

He needs to repent for his crimes.

Perhaps, he wishes that his one transmission had gone through. He doesn’t know what compelled him to call for-

“You have a visitor,” a guard announces, a sneer to his voice, as he clenched tightly against the cell key. “I don’t know who would want to visit _you.”_

He doesn’t react. He knows better.

So he lets the guards, for there’s always two to escort him to whichever designated area he’s to be dragged to next, guide him to one of the many visitation rooms.

He hasn’t been to this part of the prison.

There’s a reason for that.

The sight that greets him as he enters, is a man in medical standard armor- white with lilac trimmings. The only noticeable part to the man's attire is the hints of orange that come from his undersuit.

“Locus!” the man sounds surprised to see him, but that wouldn’t be logical since he was the one who summoned _him_ here.

Locus doesn’t recognize the voice.

The guards lead him to the chair, settle him down, and then cuff his hands to the table.

The stranger follows all of their movements with a hyper-awareness that is bizarre as it is jarring.

“I can’t believe I never got your call,” the man starts, skipping any sort of menial greetings that would initiate a normal conversation. Normally, Locus would appreciate this, but this is far from normal. “Santa had to come and inform me that you were in prison- how come I didn’t hear about this?! Well I mean, if I had just answered your call then I would’ve heard about-”

“What are you possibly talking about,” he keeps any sort of growl out of his voice, for he is simply left tired.

His trial is coming up, and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with whatever sort of idiot this man was.

“What do you mean?” the man sounded confused. “Come on, Locus, it’s me. Grif?”

That notion was certainly laughable.

“If you wanted to lie about your identity, perhaps it would have been smarter to choose a less known figure,” he stared down the man. “Even if your armor matched, there’s no mistaking the difference of your voice from his- in fact, I’m offended you would even try to associate the Captain with _me.”_

The stranger stopped, seemed confused, before reaching up and pulling off his helmet.

A long braid tumbled out from where it had been stuffed in the headgear, but there’s no mistaking the dichotomy of skin tones from where natural skin met skin graft.

The eyes are staring at him with a look of pure confusion and they almost look lost.

There was no mistaking this face- it would have been nearly impossible to get these details exactly right.

And yet-

“What’s this about my voice?” as Captain Grif spoke, if Locus listened hard enough, he could hear the voice of a different person muffling and smothering the unmistakable voice of the SIM Trooper. “I thought it was just Tucker at first but- you too?”

But it tapered out, as if aware, and then it was as if Captain Grif was speaking as himself again.

And not for the first time since his imprisonment-

Locus feared for this man’s safety.

For surely something else must have been going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on establishing a more thorough outline, for the number of chapters that is, and I don't think this fic will exceed more than perhaps twelve chapters? But that could change, give or take. Hope you guys enjoyed this update, even if it's been only two days since the last one!
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	5. Take A Stand Before You Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Grif looks at himself in the mirror, for the first time in weeks, he doesn't recognize his own reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, this is a good one. I had a lot of fun writing this out, and in about two chapters or so things will only get wilder, so I hope you guys enjoy the almost calm before the storm.
> 
> I'm just being mean to my Beta at this point by posting without showing her, so all mistakes are mine!

Grif's still in shock at the state that Locus appears to be in.

Which is saying something considering that this is the first time that Grif has truly seen what he looks like without the helmet.

He can't help the internal wince he has when his eyes drift to the scar crisscrossing across his face.

It just makes thinking about his armor a little more morbid.

But beyond the horrific facial scarring, Locus looks like any other person. He doesn't look like the monster that used to scar the Republic soldiers shitless, doesn't look like nightmares incarnate.

He just looks normal.

Locus looks human as can be.

After he asked about his voice, Locus got a shocked look in his eyes before it swiftly became guarded, even the way that he was sitting changed, shifting into a straighter posture than the slouched and defeated look to his person.

"Locus?" he asks when the man still hadn't answered him.

Locus' eyes darted to the side, but otherwise, he didn't move, opting to say instead, "Captain, I didn't recognize you for a moment there."

"Yeah, you and everyone else," he muttered, before noticing that he was still standing. In as suave of motion as he could manage, he slid into the seat across from Locus, and for a lack of a better place to put them, he settled his hands on the table.

He was struggling to find the right words to say when Locus beat him to the punch.

"What are you doing here, Captain?" he sounded tired, his words enunciated by the hoarseness of his throat.

"I'm here because you called," it seemed like a no brainer really.

"Yes, I called you, but that was a month ago, Captain," his eyes flickered down to the table and his cuffed hands. "I had assumed that you wanted nothing to do with me."

"What?!" he didn't know whether to be offended at the insinuation or concerned that he never got the call. "I wouldn't do that to you- it's like I told you, we're partners now!"

"We are not partners," Locus stated. "You do not want to be affiliated with me."

"Don't tell me what I do and don't want," he scowled. "I don't believe you anyhow, you wouldn't have wasted your one phone call on me if you didn't think we had some sort of relationship."

Locus tensed as he said that, and Grif noticed how the two guards who were keeping watch had a flicker of anger on their faces.

"I... am grateful that Santa managed to pass the message along," was the only comment that Locus offered.

Oh, those fuckers.

Some bull-shittery was going on, Grif could just tell. Yeah, those guards had every right to be mad at the man who helped extend and provoke the civil war that nearly destroyed their planet, but that's no fucking excuse for being inhumane towards him as a defenseless prisoner.

How many other inmates were being treated horribly? Were other people suffering here too? Was he looking too much into it?

No, he didn't think he was.

Not even a fucking phone call, Jesus Christ...

Locus looked physically fine, but Grif was starting to not trust his own eyes anymore.

Thankfully he had another pair to use.

He activated his enhancement without giving a single shit how it would freak out the prison guards, he would deal with the consequences as need be.

Immediately, their weapons were raised as they demanded to know what he was doing.

"Relax," he didn't even blink at the sight of their guns pointed at him. "I'm a medical professional, I'm checking to see if the prisoner is injured."

"You're not even supposed to be allowed to bring equipment in with you, let alone your uniform," one of the guards proclaimed, not faltering in his stance. "How did you sneak it in?"

"It's rather new, you won't find it _on_ my person," Grif rolled his eyes, watching as they flinched knowing that the target had moved with his eyes towards their direction. "And I don't think the two of you should be protesting much, the _President's personal AI_ let me in here after all."

Begrudgingly, they lowered their weapons.

That's what he thought.

He doesn't notice the calculating look that Locus got during the whole thing, so preoccupied with making sure that he was fine.

As far as he could see, there was light bruising around his sides, but towards his wrists, there were signs of chafing, perhaps even slight lacerations caused by handcuffs being on too tight.

But at least there were no signs of extreme abuse. Doesn't mean he felt comfortable leaving Locus in this jail.

He let the target view disappear, as he asked, "Santa mentioned that your trial was coming up. What are they charging you with?"

"Entering the planet illegally," the other man revealed. "When I departed after the death of Felix, President Kimball realized that she was never going to find me again. At first, she had a death warrant published for the galaxy to see, but after some time she rescinded it, instead, replacing it with a decree that were I to return to Chorus, I would be tried with illegal entry, treason being the main reason why."

And in order to make sure that Wash didn't bleed to death he was forced to go back to the planet that had it out for him.

But something about what he said shocked him and confused him partly. He didn't think that Kimball would take back the declaration of death. He wondered what made her change her mind, and wondered further if it was possible that somehow she had heard about the exploits of Locus as tried to self-redeem himself.

He wouldn't know unless he asked her. But there were other important things to focus on, like-

"I'm going to testify," he declared. "It's not right that you're facing consequences for saving Wash's life."

"Absolutely not," Locus glared, voice having a growl to it. "You being here is enough to smear your name on this planet, do not be a fool by defending me in court."

"You can't stop me," he countered.

Despite having his hands cuffed to the table, Locus locked them together as he leaned forward slightly, revealing, "Without a subpoena, you cannot be a witness in this trial, Captain."

Leaning back into a sitting position, Locus closed his eyes briefly, saying, "Besides, there was already a preliminary to see which witnesses would actually be needed for the trial."

"If you-" Grif started to say.

The main guard came forward and interrupted, "Time's up."

What? How long had it been since he'd waited for them to bring Locus in and for him to sit down? "But-"

"Goodbye, Captain Grif. Do not try to interfere," this time it was Locus interrupting him, leaving him with a curt warning.

He watched as they took Locus out of the visiting room, watched intensely the way one of the guards shoved the man forward.

There weren't many things that could be said fondly of Grif. Sure, there were a plethora of insults- fat, slob, lazy, useless, _selfish-_

But it could be said that he was loyal to a fault.

And he was not going to give up on Locus.

Locus saved his hide by freeing him from the confines of the isolated Iris. It was his turn to return the favor.

He was gonna need his SIM armor.

* * *

Grif had been avoiding the others for, well, a while now. He doesn't have a good reason, he has no shame or regrets or fears of being near them.

He just doesn't want to be around them.

But, it's kinda hard to avoid that, considering they lived in the same apartment. It's bound to happen that he'll run into one or two of them at any given time.

Thankfully they don't ask too many questions.

Still, the greatest risk of crossing paths with one of them is if he entered through the apartment door.

So he doesn't.

Lucky him, his bedroom window was next to the fire escape.

As such, he left his window unlocked and climbed out or through it to get his way into the apartment.

Was their complex near the very top of the building? Yes. Was that a lot of stairs to climb? _Fuck yeah it was._ But he supposes having individual rooms for all of them was an ok trade for having an apartment on the lower floors.

After a while, he got used to the climb. Nobody bothered him as he went up the steps of the fire escape, except for a few curious children, and it gave him the greatest way to avoid the others.

He's so used to it in fact, that he merely props the window open and climbs in, one leg before the other, without so much as looking into the room itself.

It's the shout of "Grif?!" that causes him to stumble and fall face first into the room, window shutting closed behind him, his helmet tumbling out of his hands into the corner of the room.

Looking up from where his cheek was pressed against the rug, he saw through bleary eyes the concerned expression on Simmons' face.

"Simmons?!" he props himself up as quickly as he can manage, trying to not look like the idiot who got caught sneaking into his own room. "What are you doing in here?!"

"Waiting for you!" Simmons narrows his eyes, getting almost as embarrassed as Grif. "What were you doing coming in through the window and the fire escape!"

"Uh," he needed to think of a clever answer that would dispel all suspicions that Simmons could have. "I forgot my keys."

Simmons' expression softened, but he still looked stern, "Then why didn't you knock? I'm sure one of us would've answered."

"I didn't think of it at the time," Grif lied. "What? You thought I got to the apartment doors, went 'oh I don't have my keys, whelp looks like it's time to go all the way back down and go up a whole different set of stairs?' Yeah no."

"I- that's!" Simmons blushed thoroughly, before crossing his arms and scowling. "Fine."

Seeing that the cyborg wasn't gonna argue further, Grif reached for his dropped helmet, grabbing it and getting up with a soft groan of exertion.

Simmons' eyes darted towards the helmet, and then to his armor as a whole.

"I didn't know that you got new armor," he said awkwardly.

Shit.

"I'm volunteering at the hospital now," he said, knowing that there was no getting out of revealing that fact.

"Oh," Simmons said. "I didn't know that either."

"Yeah," and now he felt bad for all the secretive shit he was doing behind the other man's back. "It's, uh, it's an experience?"

"Right- I mean, that's good," Simmons stumbled. "That's a good thing you're doing."

"Right," he agreed, awkwardly as fuck.

"And, if you're working at the hospital then you can keep an eye out for Wash!" Simmons perked, unaware of how Grif was starting to tense now. "Tucker's there right now, he doesn't want to leave Wash alone, says that he walked in on one of the nurses trying to kill him."

Oh shit.

"Really?" Grif faked concern. "That's- that's horrible."

Simmons nodded his head in agreement, saying, "Really freaked us out when he stopped by for a change of clothes."

And now Grif had to be wary of getting caught wearing his uniform. At least he was already used to hiding it from the others to avoid questions, but now there'd be a whole _different_ set of accusations if he got caught in it.

"This came in for you," Simmons extended an envelope towards in. "In the mail. I didn't open it, in case you were, uh, worried about that..."

Grabbing it, he quirked an eyebrow at the official state of the front, before his eyes widened at seeing that the sender was the _Federal Court of Chorus._

Opening it, he pulled out the letter, a little bit deterred at seeing the huge block of text, but eventually getting to the point of the damn thing.

Well.

Would you look at that?

Due to the nature of his return with his fellow Captains, President Kimball has made the exemption of having said legal document delivered in person as per the Chorus Constitution, by respecting his privacy and sending it through the mail instead.

He'd been subpoenaed to testify in the trial of _Samuel Ortez versus the People of Chorus._

Ah, the joys of being a planetary hero, he could get away with whatever he wanted just _because._

And he didn't even need to don his old armor and peer pressure whatever unlucky attorney that was assigned to the case.

Looks like the cards were in his favor.

"What does it say?" Simmons asked, keeping his distance, but clearly wanting to know the context of the letter.

"Oh, uh, I have to do something for Kimball," he said, folding the paper up and sliding it back into the envelope. He opened a drawer and put it inside, all the while Simmons watched as he did this with disappointed eyes.

"That's good that Kimball's still keeping in contact with us- you! With you," Simmons rubbed his arms, looking away.

Grif nodded, glad that he technically didn't have to lie, saying, "We should visit her-"

"Grif, I- I need to tell you something," Simmons interrupted him. "And I feel like this is going to be the only time I'm going to get a chance to do it."

He was shocked into silence.

What could Simmons possibly need to say to him?

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever, and I guess that's because you've been working at the hospital, and running errands for people like Kimball I guess? Which isn't necessarily bad, but-" Simmons looked away, eyes getting misty. "It feels like you're avoiding us- avoiding _me._ And if you're still mad about- about us leaving to go find Church instead of you-"

"I'm not mad," he cut in. "I- I apologized, remember? Unless _you're_ still mad then-"

Simmons shook his head quickly, his slightly long hair whipping back and forth with the motion, "I'm not mad either!"

This was ridiculous, Grif realizes now. He didn't have a reason to avoid the others, it was irrational to do so. Why did he even want to keep all of this a secret anyhow? He can't remember the reasoning for that either.

He should come clean, that's what he should do.

His temples began to throb a little bit, and he resisted the urge to massage the areas.

"Grif, I want to be truthful with you," Simmons declares, and somehow steals Grif's own chance to make a confession. "That night- that we shared in the storage closet, I didn't tell you then or any time after, but that was one of the greatest moments of my life because it was like I finally got a chance to be with _you."_

And in doing so he stole Grif's breath away.

He had no idea-

That his thoughts and feelings of that night- for _Simmons._

Were reciprocated.

"I love you, Grif," Simmons near whispers, chin tucked towards his chest and not looking at him. "I just- had to get it out there. Before- I don't know, before something."

"Simmons, I-" and for what seemed like the millionth time that day, Grif was once again interrupted, but this time it was from Simmons crashes his lips against Grif, in a spur of courage and gutsiness.

Their teeth clacked together harshly from the vivaciousness of the movement, and only for a moment Grif didn't know where to put his arms, but he eventually settled them around the other man's shoulders as he deepened the kiss.

He leaned in as close as he could get to Simmons, because he had been waiting for this moment for practically years, and like hell was he not going to enjoy it.

They parted for only a moment before leaning in again, and one of Simmons' hands reached up to caress Grif's cheek.

They separated for only a moment, in a careless exhale, Grif had muttered a name.

 _"Georgina..."_ he had said in a breathless manner.

Simmons' eyes, which had closed previously in ecstasy, snapped open, hurt reflected in his eyes, and he pushed Grif away from him, the other man disorientated with sudden dizziness.

"Georgina?" he questioned, swallowing harshly, eyes wide and looking away from him. "I- who's she?"

"What?" Grif asked, confused.

The maroon soldier's eyes were blinking rapidly, and he licked his lips nervously, as he swallowed back a sob, and he let out a weak laugh, "I- I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you were- that Donut was right-"

"Donut?" he must have missed something because he doesn't understand why the other man was acting in such a manner.

"I'm sorry- this, this was a  _mistake,"_ Simmons blurted out before racing out of the room, one hand coming up to wipe away stray tears.

And Grif just watched him go, horrified beyond belief.

He doesn't even know what he did wrong.

* * *

"What do you mean," Temple growled, staring down at his AI as if his eyes could fucking destroy his goddamn _code._ "The merging process can't go further than _seven fucking percent?!"_

Damon stared right back at him, unafraid of standing up to his host.

Damon scowled, yet calmly stated, "The process can't continue without further damaging or impeding his cerebral functions, and due to the core programming of Pythias-"

"Who cares about the core programming, I want results!" Temple yelled, not caring if the other inmates were listening in nor if one of the guards would come to tell him to quiet down and thus discovering his little tool.

 _"Due to the core programming of Pythias!"_ Damon raised his voice too. "He can not, nor will not, damage a human being any further than your twisted machinations have already!"

"Twisted?" Temple repeated, sounding offended. "I'm trying to get my best _friend_ back, how the _fuck_ is that twisted."

"You are destroying the life of another person, erasing his own autonomy so you can continue to play pretend!" Damon was tired of staying neutral, all the pushing and _demanding_ have set him to his limit.

Temple scoffed, rolling his eyes as he said, "You've been talking to Bucky, haven't you."

Damon chose to ignore the statement, returning to his original argument saying, "And even if you could get around his programming, the fact of the matter is, Pythias is a fragment. Seven percent is all he represents of Biff anyways."

Silent for a moment, Damon grew concerned as a devious look bleed onto his hosts face.

"So what I'm hearing," Temple started. "Is that to complete the process, I need the rest of Biff, right?"

Illogically, he felt the need to shift positions, answering, "Yes."

"Tell Pythias," the man started dictating slowly. "That he is to convince Grif to come here."

"Come here?" Damon questioned, so removed from his host's thoughts, not wanting to be any more like the man he originated from.

"Yes, I want Grif to come here," Temple seemed much calmer now that he had a backup plan. "Seven percent of Biff should be just enough to have him feel the need to trust me, right?"

Damon didn't respond.

"And when he gets here, I'll ask him to retrieve something for me," Temple nodded to himself. "After all, who needs a _lowly little fragment_ when you can have the original?"

Turning away from Damon, Temple grew a proud smirk, announcing for him to hear, "Don't worry about connecting with Dionysius anymore, Damon."

Damon shivered at the malicious look on the man's face as he turned back to him, continuing, "Grif will get him for us."

* * *

When Grif looks at himself in the mirror, for the first time in weeks, he doesn't recognize his own reflection.

The person staring back at him was a stranger, and he doesn't know how he hasn't noticed it before.

Everything just feels wrong, unbelievably wrong.

And, oh God- his _hair._

Looking and staring and knowing that that's what he looks like causes an unknown emotion to fill him and lodge itself in his throat and coat all over the bottom of his stomach and he doesn't know how to fix it except-

Yes, he does.

Because he reaches for his knife-

Grabs the braid-

_And cuts it off._

So that when he's staring at himself in the mirror and seeing short hair- short, _short_ hair but it's choppy because he just used a _knife_ to cut it- he feels like himself again.

Blond and short hair. Not long.

But then the possessive feeling of _wrongness_ leaves his body, and he's left staring at the result of his careless actions, looking at the remnants of his braid in his hand, and he feels empty all over again.

Like a puppet with its strings cuts, all his strength leaves him, and he slides down the bathroom wall, just staring at the braid.

There is a sadness in the back of his head and there's a sadness in his heart too. He's not sure who's feeling it where.

* * *

There's only one communal bathroom in the apartment and it's absolutely swamped with the number of _men_ living in it. At times, he really does pity Kai and Carolina, as they're the only two girls living with them.

But there's no Red bathroom or Blue bathroom, although that might have solved a lot of problems in the long run.

Which means that Donut tends to get up bright and early so that _he_ can be the first one to use it. It's a dog eat dog world out there, and he'd feel a modicum of sympathy...

Had he not valued his own hygiene over his relationships with the guys. It wasn't anything personal- except, well, it _was_ but not _that_ personal.

So used to his morning routine, he was surprised to find the bathroom door already closed with the lights on.

Pulling his bathrobe tighter together, he debated on whether he should try and hear if anyone was actually in there since Caboose occasionally left the lights on and closed the door whenever he was done using the bathroom.

Figuring that it'd be much easier to knock, he tapped his knuckles lightly against the door and called out, "Anyone in there?"

But the light force of his knuckles against the door pushed it open, furthering his belief that perhaps Caboose had used it last.

Walking in, and lightly humming as he did so, he closed the door behind him. Turning the lock with one hand, he started undoing his robe with the other.

Turning around and preparing to slip out of the garment, he yelped in shock at noticing Grif's prone body resting against the wall, eyes still open and staring blearily at his hands.

"Grif!" Donut pulled the edges of the rob tightly with one hand. "Why didn't you say anything when I knocked- I wouldn't have barged in on you!"

Grif finally looks up and away from the cut hair in his hand, looking confused to see the sight of Donut before him, murmuring out, "Donut?"

Noticing the thousand-yard stare in the other man, his mind jumped back to Simmons' concern from the other day, and he swallows harshly as he asks, "Are... are you alright?"

Grif doesn't answer, looking back down for a moment, before addressing Donut again, "What time is it?"

"It's almost six in the morning," he shuffles awkwardly at the question. "Were... were you in here all night?"

He gets no response.

Donut sighs because he's not really sure what else he can do, but his eyes focus on the poorly cut hair and the loosely held braid, and he offers, "Want me to fix you up?"

Fingers twitch tightly against the braid, but Grif nods his head anyways.

Walking over to the medicine cabinet, he opens one up and produces one of the shared hair care product bins. He opens it and grabs the scissors.

"Come on," he softly says to the distraught man, gently pulling the braid out of his hands to settle it aside and wrapping his arms under his shoulders to hoist him up. "Let's get your hair wet. It'll be easier this way."

Wetting Grif's hair, and then combining it out to get it as neat as possible would have been a good bonding moment under different circumstances. But Grif is quiet and near unresponsive, not even flinching when Donut combs over a tangled section of the hair he had left.

But he tries to start a conversation anyways, asking, "So, you know what they say about breakups and changing your hair. Did something happen?"

"I don't think she loves me anymore," Grif answers, completely shocking Donut who tries his damn best to not yank the other man's hair.

"Oh," he dully says. "Oh! Well, that's- does Simmons know?"

He didn't think that he'd be right when he brought up a possible love interest at that intervention that Simmons planned.

Now that it's been proven true he finds that it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

"She knows," Grif avoided the question. "That's why I said I don't think she loves me anymore."

Did Grif mean that this other woman knew about Simmons or that Simmons knew and said something to her, causing her to end things with Grif?

He has so many questions and no way to ask them.

"You never know, love works in mysterious ways," he tried his best to be positive.

He doesn't get a response. So he moves on to snipping away at Grif's hair and making it even.

There's not much to cut away, but when compared with how little he had left it seemed like a lot. Grif's hair is now cut to the nape of his neck, and Donut's eyes are drawn to the implant that they all shared as SIM Troopers.

If his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, he was sure that Grif's looked different from his and the others too. He didn't know _how_ it was different, but there's a part of him that looks at the implant and can't recognize the style of it.

Donut's fingers ghost over it, but he doesn't touch it, knowing how sensitive his own was.

And he certainly doesn't ask Grif about it either.

"Would you look at that," he proclaims as soon as he was done. "Your hair looks just the same as it did back in Blood Gulch!"

"Don't you mean Desert Gulch," Grif's eyes meet his own in the mirror.

His lips twitch down in an almost frown. He wasn't expecting Grif to mention Desert Gulch, especially since he caught the tail end of that adventure against Temple.

"No," he bears a smile trying to suspend his belief for just a moment. "From way back when! When it was still the Reds versus the Blues! Your hair was all long when we were in Desert Gulch a month ago."

Grif breaks eye contact with him, a look of consternation on his face.

"Oh," he says. "Right."

Donut's sure neither of them are convinced by that.

"All done!" he declares, settling the scissors against the sink top. He takes a moment to wipe off any remaining cut hair off of Grif's shoulders, planning on sweeping it all up in a moment anyhow. "How does it look?"

Eyes darting to see his new haircut, a look of familiarity bleeds into Grif's eyes, and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

"That looks much better," he says in a sigh. He turns to look at Donut in the eyes to say, "Thank you, Cronut."

A chill goes down Donut's spin, and he's frozen to the spot. He doesn't stop Grif from leaving the bathroom, and he knows he's wasting precious time to properly start his own morning.

But his eyes are fixated on the cut braid, and the color- dyed, not natural- and his throat feels absolutely dry because-

_"We had an orange soldier once," Cronut revealed to him in hushed whispers when they were in the deeper parts of Temple's base. "Remarkably handsome, he rocked the standard buzz cut with aplomb. It didn't help that he was a blond!"_

* * *

Grif stood outside of the courtroom, eyeing the other witnesses, noticing how he recognized none of them.

Here he stood, without his armor- the hospital one nor the SIM one- dressed in the only suit he owned, really. Part of him's grateful that Donut had assisted him with his hair a week ago, he's sure that if left to his own devices, he would have never gotten around to it and would have looked unprofessional.

Well, more unprofessional than he already felt.

As far as he understood, Kimball had requested him as a witness for the trial due to being one of the captains _and_ having spent the most time out of all of the Reds and Blues with Locus recently.

So despite his earlier grumblings, Locus was wrong in claiming that they were partners. In the eyes of the law, it turned out that for a period of time, they were.

"Captain Grif?" a court attendant opened the doors to the courtroom, before gesturing to enter. "If you would."

Without hesitation, he walked forward and through the doors, walking down the aisle, eyes perusing to see who was in attendance.

Having spent so long with her, his eyes, of course, immediately latched on to the well dressed Grey sitting in the middle.

A well dressed Grey who was staring him down as he walked forwards.

It didn't look like there was surprise on her face in seeing him here. Which could either bode well or not.

Locus too was staring at him, but unlike Grey, there was surprise in his face. Which was then quickly followed by a thunderous expression which _certainly_ couldn't bode well.

Well, tough shit, Locus could be mad all he liked, but Grif would rather die than not try to help the man out.

There was one other person he knew in the audience, but he didn't see her or her fiery red hair in his initial glance of the room.

Taking to the stand, he watched the court clerk come forward holding out a Bible, asking, "Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?"

He made sure to stare right at Locus as he said, "I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man are you guys _not_ ready for this trial. Next update shouldn't take long, last week of school and all, so I'll let you guys stew with what I gave y'all here.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me or yell at me even, you can find me on my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing).


	6. The Truth Hurts, Like a Gunshot Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My opinion?" he allowed his poker face to break slightly in order to furrow his brows. 
> 
> "Yes, your honest to God opinion," the man nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely killed me for all that it's my favorite part of this story. Ah well, I'm proud of how it came out in the end, so I hope you guys all like it too!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, if they weren't, you could bet that I'd be throwing my Beta under the bus for sure.

Judge Verity shuffled the papers in front of her, before glancing down at him from where he is in the witness' stand, saying, "Say your name for the court record."

"My name is Dexter Grif, Your Honor," he answered, still staring Locus down before he looked away so he wouldn't draw unnecessary attention to him.

Nodding her head, she folded her hands before telling him, "You may now give your testimony on the events that lead up to Mr. Ortez illegally entering Chorus."

If he didn't have to keep a straight face, he would have quirked an eyebrow at the name the judge used to refer to Locus. It didn't even occur to him that Locus would have, well, any  _ other _ name.

Which was ridiculous in hindsight, but he didn't exactly have all the time in the world to ruminate on that detail about the man.

And besides, he had a feeling that this would be the easiest part of the trail.

"I'd been away from Chorus for almost a year, and during that time I hadn't had any contact with the accused," Grif began. "Almost three months ago, the other Reds and Blues had left the moon that President Kimball provided us with, Iris, and then it was just me for about a month."

Ok, so far so good.

"Then, one day, Locus appeared on the island, alongside my fellow Red, Lopez. As it turns out, the other Reds and Blues were in danger, and they had sent Lopez out as a distress signal, a signal that Locus thankfully intercepted," his eyes darted over to the other man. "With my assistance, we managed to get to the base that they were being held as prisoners in, infiltrate it, and recover the others. However, in our attempt to escape, Agent Washington was critically wounded with a shot in the neck."

He made sure to keep any additional details out of the testimony, it wasn't important to the case to mention how he was pulled aside by Temple or describe the ruse the other man had made to lure the others to him in the first place. It wouldn't affect the outcome of the trial, and so, weren't important.

"To save Agent Washington's life, Locus knew that the only hospital within a manageable distance was Chorus, and so decided to sacrifice his freedom in exchange for saving the Freelancer's life," Grif concluded, deciding to lay it on hard with the choice of words he used to describe the decision that Locus made. But he knew that it was likely that Locus didn't think he was going to get caught, but once again, that little detail wasn't necessary and so was unimportant.

"The prosecution may now begin its examination," Judge Verity announced.

The prosecutor got off of his bench and moved towards the witness stand. Grif didn't really care for the other man's name, not really giving a shit about the person who is going to do his best to put Locus in jail.

To start off, the prosecutor asked him, "Can you confirm for the court, that this is indeed the man who assisted you in saving the other Reds and Blues?"

What a ridiculous fucking question. What, was he expecting him to say no? That it was some  _ other _ person named Locus who helped him? 

He didn't speak any of these thoughts aloud as he responded, "Yes, that's him."

"Now from what I can understand, you've been specifically requested to testify by the Attorney General Selene Bernard, is that correct?" the prosecutor asked him.

"Yes," Grif answered.

"And you've been awarded the title of Captain due to your accomplishments during the War for Chorus, is this also correct?" the prosecutor prodded.

It took all his willpower to avoid rolling his eyes, but he nodded his head, "Yes."

"Which means, you have a loyalty to this planet, would you agree with this statement," the man leaned back on his heels.

Grif watched as the defense scowled at the question, but didn't move to object it. A glance at the judge showed that she wasn't going to do the same.

"I would," he answered.

"Then, could you explain how you can be sure that Mr. Ortez, known terrorist and murderer, was being purely altruistic whilst returning to Chorus?" the man asked.

Not even taking the time to let the question phase him, Grif answered, "On our way to help the others he revealed to me that he was helping us because it was the right thing to do. It took a while longer before I weaseled out a deeper answer from him, where he revealed how he stumbled upon a massacred colony full of the corpses of dead women, men, and children months prior and was looking for the ones responsible."

"And this colony is of relevance how?" the prosecutor furrowed his eyebrows, not seemingly satisfied with his previous response.

"The Blues and Reds, the people who had captured the Reds and Blues, had stolen a power generator from the colony and subsequently killed them all," Grif answered, a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach as he said that, although he wasn't sure why. A part of him felt like that sentence was wrong, inherently wrong in some way. But it was the truth, he hadn't lied.

"Were you with Mr. Ortez the entire time?" the man continued onward nonetheless.

"No," he shook his head, but before the prosecutor could ask another question, he continued. "In order to infiltrate the base undetected, I was sent in to distract the Blues and Reds while Locus searched for the Freelancers."

"So there was a period of time where he was unaccounted for?" the prosecutor looked as if he was struggling to find a proper thread to latch on, which worked for Grif since it gave him more of an opportunity to make Locus look better to the jury.

"Yes," short and simple.

"And during this lapse of time, are you certain that he caused no harm whatsoever? That he injured anyone?" the man asked.

"I- I'm not sure," he hesitated, cursing that he did so. 

And that was exactly what the prosecutor needed as he asked, "Was there a moment where Mr. Ortez caused any sort of harm?"

Fuck.

"Yes," he answered honestly. "But only in retaliation when we were being shot at by the other SIM Troopers, and he only aimed for the kneecaps, wanting to make sure that he didn't kill anyone."

"But did he?" the prosecutor asked. "Are you certain that his actions caused no deaths?"

That caused him to pause because he well and truly didn't know.

Did anyone get to the base after everything was done and over with? Did they even make it in time? A gunshot wound was a gunshot wound. 

Did any of those SIM Troopers bleed to death? He can't even remember if he killed any of them, he certainly wasn't aiming for their kneecaps that's for sure.

He finds that he can't exactly remember much from that moment, the details are fuzzy. After Wash getting shot, it felt like that's all they  _ all _ could focus on.

"I'm not sure," tumbles from Grif's mouth, leaving a bitter taste.

"So there's a possibility that he has caused just as much harm as he has before," the prosecutor asked.

He didn't want to answer this, he really didn't- "Yes, but not on purpose."

"Your Honor, I have concluded the examination of the witness," the man turned towards the judge.

She nodded her head, and announced, "The defense may begin its cross-examination."

The public defender looked as if he would rather be anywhere else but that courtroom, which in turn made Grif not too optimistic for the man.

Likely, he was assigned to be Locus' defense attorney by the government, because there's no way in hell that Locus could either afford one or that anyone would willingly  _ want _ to defend him.

And Grif knew that the man would do his best to defend Locus, otherwise, he'd be out of a job, but he was also sure that the man wouldn't go up and beyond to defend him. He'd do his job and not put an inch of effort more into it.

But he wouldn't antagonize the man, this was the guy he  _ had _ to work with to get Locus out of this whole mess.

"Mr. Grif, you claim that Agent Washington was shot and injured during your rescue, is this correct?" the defense asked.

"That is correct," he nodded.

"Do you know which hospital Mr. Ortez dropped off Agent Washington at?" the man continued.

"General Doyle General Hospital," Grif answered. "He's still there recovering."

"He's still recovering?" the defender slightly sounded surprised, and was most likely concealing the brunt of it. "Then would you say that the injury he sustained was critical?"

Finally, something he could actually use to help his cause. 

"Yes, the injury, plus the sustained combination of exhaustion, starvation, and dehydration, lead to cerebral hypoxia," Grif answered. "It's being treated as best as it can be."

At the back of the courtroom, one of the spectators stiffens as he says this, but he doesn't notice.

"For the court record, could you describe what cerebral hypoxia is?" the man asked.

"Brain damage," he said plainly.

"If Mr. Ortez hadn't gotten him to Chorus, then would you say that he would have died from his injuries," the defense actually looked reinvigorated by his previous answers, and if Grif would have to garner a guess, he probably thought he could sway the minds of the jury now.

Of course, it was probably for selfish reasons, such as winning the trial and getting the chance to gloat on how he won the unbeatable trial in favor of Locus. Or something of that sort. 

But hey, if it got Locus out of chains and somewhere far from Chorus then he wasn't going to complain.

"Absolutely," he answered honestly.

"Would you agree with the statement, that it was a necessary action for Mr. Ortez to illegally enter Chorus in order to save the life of Agent Washington?" the defense asked, an undercurrent of energy to his question.

"Had it not been for  _ Locus," _ that name was the more important of the two, he had decided during the examinations, "Agent Washington, my fellow Savior of Chorus, would have been dead before any one of us could blink."

From the corner of his eye, he watched as the jury looked amongst themselves, a flurry of emotions of their faces, but no whispering, not until they had the chance to discuss the court proceedings.

"Your Honor, I have concluded my cross-examination," the defense settled down at his own bench.

Looking at her notes, Judge Verity roamed her eyes over towards the two attorneys, and then at him, before announcing, "The prosecution will now be allowed the chance to direct the witness."

Getting up quickly, the prosecution walked back over to him and addressed him once more, this time asking, "Mr. Grif, you seem intimately aware of the injuries sustained by Agent Washington, is this correct?"

Looked like the asshole wasn't going to go down without a fight, and as he resisted the urge to let a frown show on his face, he answered, "Yes."

"Could you tell the court, how exactly you know the specific details of Agent Washington's injuries?" if the man could get away with leering at him, Grif was sure he'd be doing it.

"Myself along with the others have visited him in the hospital," he said. 

"No other reason?" the man asked.

He didn't trust the tone of the prosecutor's voice, but he also couldn't lie. If he hesitated or refused to answer the question, that would hurt Locus more than help him.

If only court records were kept private, and if only it was a secluded proceeding, then perhaps he wouldn't be so concerned with revealing, "I've been volunteering at the hospital. I've seen his hospital records."

The prosecutor shifted his stance, coming a step closer to him, and looking at him directly as he asked, "You volunteer at the hospital? Doing what?"

"Shadowing a doctor," he didn't want to drop Grey's name without her consent, especially since she was in the audience. "Whatever they do, I assist."

"How many patients do you tend to?" now the prosecutor had definitely lost Grif.

"A lot," he couldn't approximate how many exactly.

"Any particular ward of the hospital?" the man queried.

"All over," he semi-shrugged, stopping himself in the middle of the action since it certainly wouldn't be professional. "Mostly I assist in General Surgery."

"Have you ever assisted with returning patients?" the prosecutor tilted his head upwards slightly. "Those who come in due to preexisting conditions?"

He had to think on this, and could conclude, "Occasionally, yes."

"Now, I'd very much like you to think hard on this question," the man turned away from him and faced the jury instead. "Have you ever had to treat victims of the War for Chorus?"

So that's his angle.  _ Figures. _

He wants to say no, wants to stop the man in his tracks in a very smug manner probably not fitting of a courtroom.

But he doesn't want to hurt Locus' case, and so answers, "Once or twice, yes."

"Then you've seen the scars of the soldiers who fought to protect this planet from the forces of the accused? You've seen first hand how they must continue to return to the hospital, how their means of living have been stripped from them?" with every question, the man turned towards him a look of barely concealed hatred.

He doesn't want to quickly answer, nor does he want to let the questions hang heavily in the air, so he wants just a pause before answering, "Yes."

"And yet, you defend the perpetrator of all this suffering," the man tsks, chastising him as if he were a child and not a seasoned soldier. 

Judge Verity let him say it.

"Your Honor, I've concluded my direct," the prosecutor doesn't even look back at Grif as he returns to his bench.

"The defense may now be allowed to redirect the witness," the judge proclaimed.

Getting up from his bench, perhaps with not as much energy as the prosecutor, the defense still approached the witness stand quickly.

"Mr. Grif, I'm going to be frank with you, for a moment," the man started. "You've told us all that you know about the incident that brought Mr. Ortez to Chorus, correct?"

"That's correct," he nodded.

"Then, would you mind telling the court your opinion on this case?" the defense looked slightly stressed as he asked that. Maybe he was drawing at straws at this point if he thought that this was a good question to ask.

"My opinion?" he allowed his poker face to break slightly in order to furrow his brows. 

"Yes, your honest to God opinion," the man nodded.

An opinion didn't have to be based on facts. An opinion could mean anything so long as it was the truth.

And oh, did he have an opinion to share.

Surveying the courtroom, before settling his eyes on a still glowering Locus, he announced, "I think this whole thing is  _ ridiculous." _

That caused near everyone in the courtroom to be taken aback, looks of confusion appearing on quite a few faces, mainly those in the jury.

"You think it's ridiculous?" the defense didn't seem surprised by his opinion, or perhaps was taking it in stride. "Could you elaborate on your opinion further?"

"Sure can," he huffed, trying his best to keep a lock on his deeper emotions. "I think this whole thing is ridiculous, because Locus didn't do anything  _ wrong." _

Now  _ that _ actually managed to cause a few whispers amongst the spectators but seeing as he wasn't going to get cut off by another question he continued.

"He's on trial for illegal entry onto this planet. So then why's everyone trying to tie it back onto what he did during the War for Chorus?" he glared mainly at the prosecutor. "Unless there are additional charges that I didn't hear about, I think it's ridiculous that his past is getting brought up at  _ this _ trial."

Some of the jury members shifted in their seats.

"In fact, I think it's amazing that you managed to find anyone without bias to be in the jury," he looked at the fifteen people seated together. "But judging by the way that some of them look uncomfortable, I'm willing to bet that you couldn't even manage  _ that." _

Turning back to the defense, he continues, "So yeah, I think it's ridiculous."

"Your Honor, if I may interject, I'd argue that it's paramount that the good people of the jury are reminded of the character of the accused!" the prosecutor spoke out of turn.

"And if I may interject your interjection, I'd like to say I don't  _ care," _ Grif hissed. "And what character are you referring to? That he's a murderer? Big whoop, you people worship murderers!"

And just like that, the courtroom became suffocatingly silent.

The defense, knowing that technically it was still his redirect, gulped silently in nervousness before deciding to ask, "Could you elaborate on what you mean by that?"

"Everywhere I go, it's always 'Captain Grif, Hero of Chorus' and starry-eyed looks from people I've never met, let alone care about," he answered. "Just because I helped save your planet I get hero worship every which way, and that's when you all conveniently decide to forget that I, and the others, have killed so many people too."

The prosecutor looked stunned, and tried to speak up once more, "That's-" 

"The truth," he sneered. "What? You think that just because we're 'galactic heroes' or whatever nonsense the UNSC tried feeding the galaxy that it doesn't make us killers still? So, as long as it wasn't your people that we killed, then it's fine to worship a murderer? And hell, not even that's true, considering how before you guys became united it was a  _ civil war, _ one that Locus didn't even  _ start. _ I've probably killed some of your guys during my time as a  _ Captain _ of the New Republic, so does that change my character in the slightest?"

No one has a response for him- not the defense, not the prosecutor, Judge Verity looks as if she wants to say something but stays quiet nonetheless, and certainly not the jury.

"And that's not even considering the fact that you also glorify  _ Freelancers!" _ he could feel the cracks slipping in his poker face, as he's allowed to continue. 

"What do you mean by bringing up the Freelancer's?" the defense asks, attempting to get the attention off of Grif and onto someone else who  _ wasn't _ a witness.

"Project Freelancer has led to the death and abuse of  _ thousands of soldiers _ with their SIM Trooper program, a program that myself and your other 'saviors' were forced to be a part of," just thinking about it started to rile him up further than he already had. "I'm willing to bet that if your little planet wasn't stuck in a civil war with no means of contact to the rest of the galaxy then I'm sure most of you would have been swept up by the UNSC into the program, hell, I've met some of your soldiers and they certainly fit the bill of what the program was looking for: idiotic, useless, wastes of space."

His words are harsher than he wants them to be, and maybe if he wasn't pressured by the fact that his testimony and his alone was probably going to be the only thing between Locus and imprisonment, then perhaps he could have said it in a kinder way.

But he's still telling the truth.

And he's certainly not lying when he says, "Agent Carolina herself, one of your decorated saviors of this planet, has killed more than her fair share of SIM Troopers. If you were somehow involved in the project she probably wouldn't even think twice before doing what she had to do to get results. You think she cares about any of you?" 

Some of the juries eyes dart out towards the back of the courtroom, where the audience sits.

"There were thousands of soldiers in that program, and yet, when the Blues and Reds went about recruiting them for their little scheme there were only about a hundred of them left. The rest were all  _ dead," _ his frown is less born of anger and more from sorrow. "Where's the justice for us, huh? You don't see me filing a lawsuit against the remnants of Project Freelancer, or Agent Carolina, whining about the things that happened in the past. The UNSC wouldn't take the case, they wouldn't  _ care." _

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

"So why do you think we even give a single shit about any of you?" he delivered to the stunned courtroom.

There, he's said what he had to. Maybe it wasn't what these people wanted to hear, but he was sick and tired of the undeserving praise and all the hero worship. Hopefully, they'd be able to take a step back and realize that they couldn't just judge Locus from what he'd done in the past, but by what he had to do for Wash-

"Your Honor," said man speaks up from where he'd been sitting in silence the whole trial, causing a few people in the jury to gasp and lean into the person beside them, spooked at hearing him speak. "You cannot listen to the testimony of this man."

What.

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Ortez," Judge Verity addresses him for the first time that Grif was in that room.

"What he has refrained from telling you, is that when I did find him he'd been  _ isolated _ from all contact," Locus grounds out, ignoring the way that Grif blanched at what he was beginning to reveal. "When I found him, he was talking to himself, rambling, hearing voices to which he also revealed that he'd been hallucinating-"

"That's not important to my testimony!" Grif interjected, leaning against the support that formed the witness stand as he looked up at the judge, an urgency to his voice.

_ "And his personality fractured into multiple variations taking the voices of those he called friends," _ Locus near yelled, an infuriated look on his face. "He was  _ insane. _ And still  _ is." _

"I was not!" he yells at Locus before his eyes dart to the judge. "I  _ am not!" _

"He doesn't know what he's saying, and as such his testimony cannot be trusted," Locus argued, standing up abruptly, causing some people to flinch away, and the police officer watching the court proceedings to step closer to him in a warning.

"Why won't you just let me help you?!" Grif knew exactly what Locus was trying to do, attempting to discredit his testimony so that he wouldn't somehow 'ruin' Grif's image to the public, as if he wasn't already doing that himself.

"And can't you see that I'm trying to help  _ you!" _ Locus yelled. "You are clearly unwell, your testimony is being  _ influenced, _ and I will not stand by as you continue to associate yourself with me!"

"That's my decision to make!" he claimed, slamming his hand down against the stand.

Locus opened his mouth to argue further when the loud slam of a gavel stopped him in his tracks along with the roar of,  _ "ENOUGH." _

Judge Verity sounded downright furious with the look of loathing on her face as she glanced between the two of them, "The both of you have made an absolute mockery of my court and I will not stand for it! Mr. Ortez if you do not return to your seat you will receive your sentence  _ immediately!" _

Reluctantly, Locus sat back down.

"And  _ you! _ I would say that I expected more from one of our Captains, but based on your little display earlier I'd be proving your point exactly!" she addressed Grif with a fire in her eyes. "You shouldn't have even been testifying had it not been for your last minute subpoena!"

Having her ire directed at him had any and all responses taken away, so he only stared wide-eyed in shock.

All the fire drained from her body soon enough, and she sighed, a hand coming up to massage the bridge of her nose, as she continued, "But you were asked to be a  _ key _ witness to this trial by President Kimball, and I can't bar you from testifying as that much is certain."

Thank God for small miracles.

"But I also can't discredit what Mr. Ortez claims either," and she grew stern once more. "His accusation against you is a serious one, and one that could drastically change the proceedings of this trail."

Or not. And to think for just a moment he had thought that for once he'd gotten a little bit of luck.

"As such," the judge managed to control her demeanor again. "This trial will be put on a momentary hold, while Captain Grif is evaluated psychologically. Once the results are brought in, and to see whether he is of sound mind or not, then the jury may be allowed to make a verdict."

Oh shit. The last thing he needed was someone poking around his head, trying to figure out how he ticked.

From the back of the courtroom, Grey stood up at hearing about the psychological evaluation, but she was clearly seen by the judge, as she interrupted, "Ms. Grey you may remain seated as you will  _ not _ be the one to evaluate the witness."

Without a word, Grey returned to her seat.

The same court attendant who opened the door for him approached the witness stand, but he rolled his eyes and walked past the man, saying, "I know the way out of here."

His fists clenched as he walked down the aisle, doing his best to ignore all the prying eyes that followed him on his way out.

Grif figures that he probably pissed off a lot of people today. And probably more when all the news reporters made their stories about the events that happened today. He could see the headlines already,  _ 'Famed Hero Proclaims He Couldn't Care Less About Those He Saved.' _

They could misconstrue his words all they liked.

He didn't lie. Not once. 

What he said was harsh, it was rude, insulting even, but he wasn't lying. It was like he'd been bottling up all these thoughts and opinions, and just that question, the asking of his opinion, had given the out that he needed to release all those pent up feelings or whatever.

Maybe he would regret it the next day, maybe he'd struggle to conceal what he and Grey had been doing when he was forced to see the psychologist. Fuck, maybe today was just a waste, because if those jurors wanted Locus to go to jail, whether or not circumstances should have left him innocent or at the very least given an exception to his ban in order to save a life, then they would be able to do it. 

He doubts that there were fifteen people on Chorus who didn't hold  _ some _ sort of hatred towards Locus. The majority would convince the minority if it existed, and that unanimous verdict of 'guilty' would condemn Locus to spend the rest of his life in jail. Because he doesn't doubt that the judge would use that verdict as an opportunity to keep Locus locked up nice and tight.

Probably no one would care about how he was trying to do good in the world, trying to make up for what he'd done.

And what a damn shame that was.

Because if the Freelancers were given a chance at redemption then why couldn't-

"What was  _ that," _ a very familiar and haunting voice stops him in his tracks, his heart stuttering to a stop as his eyes dilated in the well-lit hallway of the courthouse.

He- he knows this voice.

This is the voice that haunted his dreams at night, that caused him to cry out in fear and feel the phantom pains of a pole embedded in his stomach.

As he turns to stare at her, it doesn't matter that he can see her face, a stern scowl framed by bright red hair, hair that reminded him as blood, like the blood that poured down his chest when she- when-

It was her voice that really did him in.

Biff really doubts that he'd be able to forget the voice of Agent Carolina.

* * *

She should've broken into his apartment, Grey reasons. Because now she was hurrying after Grif, not wanting to leave him unattended. She shouldn't have waited to confront him about improper melding.

She knew it, just  _ knew _ that there was something wrong with the implantation. Pythias must have been unwell, and now was making  _ Grif _ unwell. 

Or perhaps, he had been unwell for a very long time if what Locus said had any ounce of truth in it.

Why hadn't she checked up on him, on any of them? Just because Washington was hurt, didn't mean she could check on the others. 

But now wasn't the time for that, it was the time for her to worry about her friend and the AI he toted around.

Grey didn't want either of them to get hurt. It was a simple correction- she just knew she should have kept him in the hospital longer, secretiveness of the whole thing be damned- a simple mistake in how she implanted it. 

It wasn't as if Pythias could help it, this mistake was on her, she knew that much.

Professionalism had kept her in her seat when Grif had left the courtroom, she had to wait for Judge Verity to leave before she did, but as soon as it was possible for her to leave, she did so.

While the courthouse was rather large, there was only one direct way to the entrance, and she knew that was where Grif would be exiting, so she took off in that direction.

Her heels clacked harshly against the linoleum floors, as she rushed after the other man.

She hears Carolina before she can see her, and judging by the question, she just knows that she was beaten on finding Grif. 

Turning the corner to the corridor, she watches as Grif stares petrified at the Freelancer confronting him, his pupil's pinpricks as sweat drips down his brow. Analyzing his stance further shows, a slight tremor in his hands.

"Well?" she asked, taking a step towards him, causing him to cower a little more. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I-" his voice cracked, and he looked as if he physically couldn't get the words out.

Grey hurried towards the pair.

Carolina must have noticed his behavior, as the tension in her shoulders melted away slightly, and some of the anger left her voice as she asked, reaching out towards him, "Grif, are you alright?"

Her hand connected with his shoulder and that's when everything went to  _ shit. _

Backpedaling as quickly as he could, Grey watched in horror as Grif began to hyperventilate.

Carolina took a step back, a look of confusion mixed with shock on her face, a look that twisted into concern when Grif collapsed down onto the ground, arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry,  _ I'm sorry," _ he babbled through gasps of air. "Please don't kill me, please- I'm sorry. Not again, please,  _ not again!" _

"Grif? I don't-" she made a move to step towards him again, but stops herself before she can.

It's all the hesitation that she needs to move past the Freelancer towards the panicking soldier, exclaiming, "Grif!"

The man hears her voice but doesn't stop his repetition of,  _ "Not again, please, not again!" _

"Captain, can you hear me?" she kneels down next to him, gently prying the fingers that must have been twisting painfully into his chest away from his shirt, clasping tightly onto one hand while the other went back to the same position.

"Grey, what's going on?" Carolina asks, thankfully staying in her spot.

From her peripherals, Grey can see some bystanders watching the Captain's episode, and while she would love to tell them to mind their own business, ultimately they are not of her concern.

_ "Grif," _ she tries again, squeezing the hand that she held to see if it would gain his attention. She succeeded, as his eyes made contact with her own. "Can you hear me?"

Now that he had noticed her, he began to address her instead, "Don't let her kill me, I- I just wanted to go home! I didn't do anything wrong- I-"

"It's alright, Captain," she soothed. "She's not going to hurt you, she's your friend, remember?"

"No, no, no," he shook his head, eyes still wide with fear. "She did it once, she'll do it again!"

"Do you mean kill?" Grey chanced a quick glance at Carolina, seeing the pinched expression on her face. 

"Yes, she's going to kill me again, please don't let her- I'll do anything,  _ please," _ he hadn't calmed down at all.

"Again? She can't kill someone twice, let alone you, Captain," Grey started to ease him up and off the ground, and thankfully he was pliable to her subtle unspoken direction. "Why don't we talk about this in my office?"

"I- she's going to kill me again, I just wanted to go home," his voice cracked again, as he clenched his eyes shut.

"I understand you want to go home, but let's just go to my office," she started to turn him towards the direction he had presumably been heading on his way out.

But she didn't even make a single step when she heard Carolina growl out, "What is  _ that?" _

Freezing in her tracks, she released Captain Grif, and turned back towards the Freelancer on her lonesome, the other soldier still facing the opposite direction.

"What is what, Agent?" she tried to keep a smile plastered onto her face.

"Do you think I'm stupid," a hurt expression crossed the Freelancer's face before it was submerged under the anger she held. "I know an AI implant when I see one, and I'm not talking about the SIM Trooper variant."

"Oh," she couldn't keep up the ruse in the face of the truth. "Oh dear."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself," Carolina stepped forward. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing that he didn't want to be done," Grey frowned slightly, taking care to note the clenched fists of the other woman in front of her. 

"I'm supposed to just  _ believe _ that? Supposed to believe that he just let you drill into his head and put another person inside of it," the Freelancer asked, a deep frown on her face. 

"Yes," Grey responded, trying desperately to maintain part of her happy stride, but finding that she was struggling in the severity of the moment. "Because I wouldn't lie to you, Agent."

"Did he even know what it was?" she accused. 

"Considering that he came to me about it, yes," Grey had to keep her voice light and airy, she  _ had _ to.

"And why didn't he tell any of us- why didn't you?" Carolina shakes her head. "You above anyone else should know the type of damage these things can cause, you've seen what it's done to  _ Wash." _

Licking her lips, she answers as jovially as she normally would, "Well that would be because he told me not to, and I had to respect that!"

Carolina's mouth wobbles as he hands shake slightly, before her frown returns in full force. "I always knew you were willing to do anything to receive results, but I didn't think you were cruel to those you considered a friend."

It was upon hearing that, that Grey gave up on trying to maintain any sort of amicability. Carolina's words cut deep, lacerating her in places she didn't think could get hurt anymore.

And she's silent in the seconds afterward. Because she needs to collect her thoughts, needs to bounce back for the hurtful words of someone who possibly couldn't be hurting as much as her or her Captain.

So Grey takes a short inhale of air, and finds that she has to take another one and another one as she blinks away crystalline tears that threaten to show.

When she manages to collect herself, as well as she can, she finds that her words are just as hurtful, "To find out that you think so little of me, Agent! Considering that you're one to  _ talk _ about keeping medical secrets."

Carolina takes a step back, physically recoiling from her words.

"I don't have time to argue with you," she shakes her head, managing to smile past the agony afflicting her heart. "I need to assist Grif-"

And her words trailed off as she realizes that the Captain as left her side, and looking down the hallways she can't see a sight of him at all. 

The sound of footsteps heading past her is all the indication that Carolina is leaving the courthouse as well, for Grey doesn't dare to look at her form as she walks by.

Which leaves Grey to herself with all her thoughts and emotions and words that jumble around her head about what just happened.

And Grey thinks back to what Grif proclaimed back in the courtroom, how Carolina had killed SIM Troopers. And she wonders, and wonders and wonders.

Perhaps, maybe Pythias was based on a SIM Trooper himself.

* * *

His heart hasn't stopped pounding against his chest, not even as he ducked into an alleyway far away from the courthouse.

Carolina could have just killed him there, and no one would have cared! They would let her get away with it as they did before. And she-

"Grif, are you ok?" Pythias projected in front of him, voice low and quiet.

"I'll- I'll be fine," he leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I just need a moment to catch my breath."

"Ok," Pythias said, but didn't disappear. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" that got him to open his eyes, to look at the AI.

Pythias had his head tilted down, hands still stuck in the same position as always, but now it made him seem just as more remorseful.

The AI didn't respond to his question.

Running a hand through his hair, before remembering just how short it was now, he shook his head, asking, "Fuck, how the hell am I supposed to help Locus  _ now?" _

"What do you mean," the projection came closer in a flash, lighting up the otherwise dark alley. 

"I made a mess back there, I know you were watching," he rolled his eyes slightly. "If they didn't think I was unstable just from what Locus said, then I'm sure anyone who watched that panic attack will get it back to the judge that it's probably true."

"Right," Pythias said awkwardly. 

"What am I going to do?" he covered his face with his hands, before dragging them down his face slowly. "I'm going to fail that evaluation and then Locus is so boned."

"Then just don't go to the evaluation," Pythias brought up.

"I can't just not go to it," Grif shook his head. "Otherwise Locus is screwed without my testimony being considered by the jury."

"But the trial is on hold until you're evaluated, right?" Pythias looked away from him. "So if you don't show up for a while, maybe it'll continue to stay on hold? Long enough for you to think of something else."

"That's-" he paused, thinking it over. "That could work. But where could I even go where I won't be strong-armed into going?"

"Leave," Pythias shrugged, the inflection of his voice not matching his actions. "They can't force you to go if they can't find you."

"Where?" he asked, now convinced of the idea. It was going to help Locus, keep him out of jail a little longer. 

"You have questions, you want answers," Pythias stared at him straight on.

The orange and blue glow of the AI illuminated the confusion on Grif's face as he concluded, "Let's go talk to Temple."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for courtroom drama, huh? Poor Locus, he has no idea what he just caused to happen via domino effect and all. Poor Grif, contempt of court is a crime. Anywho, the next chapter shouldn't take too long, so enjoy this one for now!
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	7. Cobalt, Maroon, and Red, Else You'll Wind Up Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Simmons very much does _not_ want to think about Grif at the moment, he can't help but think that at the very least he had a point about comfort food.
> 
> Because the sugar-free vanilla ice cream that he's been eating for the past _hour_ has really been helping him muffle his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once I posted early in the day instead of in the middle of the night. And that's totally because I tried my best to get this out before I headed off to my graduation ceremony. Anyhow, I realized I forgot, like an idiot, to put a link to [this](https://creatrixanimi.tumblr.com/post/185254292267/happy-birthday-to-agent-murica-here-is-an) wonderful art that creatrixanimi on Tumblr made for my birthday of Grif from chapter four!
> 
> Due to all the commotion this past week, I didn't bother my Beta's, so all mistakes are my own! Hope y'all enjoy!

When he woke up, Temple had a feeling that today- today was going to be a _good_ day.

When Damon informed him that Pythias had managed to convince Grif to come to _him,_ he almost complimented his AI on his good work. But he didn't, because he still hadn't gotten his true prize yet.

That would come soon. 

How soon, however, was a different question entirely.

Ever since receiving the rather fortuitous news, as he couldn't have been entirely sure that Grif _would_ have taken the bait, he'd been waiting oh so patiently for his visitor to come to him.

Only an idiot would expect Grif to arrive immediately, and even with Pythias, it'd be quite a trial to find exactly where the prison ship was heading. Then he would need to find access onto the ship.

That actually gave him some food for thought as he waited. Temple could imagine all the different ways Grif could get inside to talk to him.

There was, of course, the logical route- go through the process of getting a visitation pass. The downsides include, of course, a record of his visit and an immediate suspect when Temple was eventually broken out of jail, as planned.

The other ideas were certainly more amusing to ruminate on. But those much... _bloodier_ scenario's certainly wouldn't pass with Grif. At least, not at the moment. Not with just a _seven_ percent merge. 

But with a hundred? Heh, now that would be a different thing entirely.

But that would be getting ahead of himself, he could be cocky later when he knew Dionysius was back in his hands again.

It's as he's indulging himself in these thoughts that the two guards arriving outside of his cell go unnoticed until he hears the click of the cell unlocking.

From where Buckey had been resting on his cot, he jumped up and to attention at the sight of the guards, eyes flickering to Temple's form who hadn't quite moved yet.

He wouldn't stand at attention to these UNSC dogs. He'd get up on his own accord.

"What can we do for you, officers," Buckey jokes, voice strained as he continued to give Temple a pointed look.

"At ease, we're not here for you," the slightly shorter guard announced, not humoring the comment.

Not having to be told twice, Buckey settles back down on his cot, not trying to evoke the ire of the guards by remaining completely _spineless._ And that's why Temple was the leader of the group and no one else. The rest were too stupid- Cronut and Lorenzo- or were now dead- Surge, Gene, and Loco- to try and stop him.

Buckey would be the _only_ contender to lead, but once again, he was _spineless-_ all bark and absolutely no bite. If Temple were to stoop to his level, he'd almost think that he was compensating for something...

"Just me then?" he smirked. "What? Do I have a visitor or something?"

He knew that this day was going to be good for a reason-

"As if anyone would want to visit you," the taller guard scoffed, amusement present in her voice. "No, we're here to escort you to the medical wing. The UNSC finally managed to send over a psychologist to evaluate you."

"Turns out your attempt at an insanity plea got their attention," the second one goaded. "Not like it's going to change your sentence, but they want their records up to date. So unfortunately for you, you're going to have to go through this session."

Pure loathing burned from the center of his core, and while he would have given anything to spit in their faces, he kept his smile plastered onto his face. He didn't want to give them any more ammo than they already had.

Oh, they'd get what was coming to them soon enough. Karma was a bitch like that.

And here he really thought Grif had finally arrived.

"Then lead the way," he said as he held out his hands, indicating that he wouldn't fight back as they handcuffed him.

And as they escorted him none too gently to the medical wing, his mind raced as he planned all the ways to avoid Damon getting caught. If this psychologist found out about the tool he had kept hidden from the guards then it'd be all over for him. 

Damon would get forcibly removed from his head and then he'd have _nothing_ left to try and escape with. His one weapon- _gone._

So he'd have to avoid that outcome no matter what. And the best way to do that would be to be pliable. Answer every question asked and give the psychologist no reason to probe deeper than legally required.

He's good at acting- he'd been in the theatrical troupe at his school long, long ago. And years of scheming and plotting had given him an advantage that most others could only achieve through method acting. 

Temple has _experience_ manipulating people under his belt. This would be a breeze.

"Here we are," the taller guard announced, moving in front of him so that she could open the door. "Don't try any funny business, we'll be able to hear if you do anything."

"Not going to stay and watch?" he asked, raising a brow. This was unexpected.

"Can't," the shorter one said, a twitch to his lips indicating that he wasn't happy about it. "Confidentiality clauses don't just stop applying to prisoners, even if they are maniacs like you."

"Lucky me," he snarled, rolling his eyes as he walked in, wanting to get it over with. He didn't want to chance missing his meeting with Grif all because of a ridiculous psychoanalysis.

Walking into the room, he takes note of the drab and very conservative state of the room. It hardly looked as though someone with any sort of medical degree. And it's for this reason that he's thankful that he hasn't had any need to go to the medical wing before today. Knowing those bastards in charge of the prison system, they'd probably employ people just like Doc to take 'care' of their prisoners.

In his observance of the room, he completely glances over the only other occupant.

Clearing his throat, the other person crosses his arms, and announces himself by saying, "Turn and cough, bitch."

And just like that, this whole thing went from an inconvenience to absolute giddiness.

"Grif," he greets warmly, eyes roaming over his new armor in displeasure, not a fan of the model or the colors- that purple completely ruined the orange components. But he could fix that once he fixed Grif, he could deal with it for right now. "What an absolute pleasure to see you."

"Trust me, it's not reciprocated," Grif deadpanned. "I wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been for that 'friendship bracelet' you gave to me a while back."

Chuckling, he feels a tickle at the back of his mind, and so says, "Speaking of friendship bracelets, I never really did show you mine, now did I?"

He watched as Grif adjusted his stance at that, even as he let Damon know that it was ok for him to appear, the little projection popping up without a moment's notice.

"No, no, you did not," Grif gets out, voice tense. "Let me guess, his name is Damon?"

"I knew you were smarter than the others," he smiled. "Well, if we're showing off our tokens, then I wouldn't mind seeing Pythias again."

"Yeah, about that, I have to ask- any particular reason why you chose those names?" Grif asked, not stopping his own AI from popping up and out into the open.

At the sight of his compliment, a grin broke out on Damon's face and he flashed over towards Pythias, ignoring as Grif jerked backward, calling out, "Pythias!"

Without hesitation, Pythias in a rare show of animation was able to separate his hands in order to launch himself at the other AI in a tight hug, _"Damon."_

Damon reciprocated, wrapping his own holographic arms around the other, and for all that he told Temple that he couldn't simulate emotions, the look of pure love and adoration couldn't have been faked.

"Cute," Grif said dryly, watching the display. "Now, the answer to my question?"

"It's like I told you," he said as he dragged his gaze away from the pair. "I got inspired from a line in _Hamlet."_

"You cliche, motherfucker," Grif scoffed. "Really?"

 _"'O Damon dear,'"_ Temple quoted. "Why? Would you have preferred more to it?"

"Guess not," he shrugged. "Can't help but notice the resemblance between 'O Damon dear' and you. Except, he obviously looks way younger and less like shit." 

"Where do you think he came from?" Temple revealed. "You need a human brain to make an AI as sophisticated as him."

Grif stilled slightly, likely taking in the information about Damon, but it was only for a pause. 

That was the thing about the both of them, Temple knew that Grif was just as aware as him about the importance of keeping up appearances.

Such a shame that Temple didn't really have a need for Grif himself. He was sure if circumstances had been different, they might have been able to become friends. Before the Reds and Blues got their greedy hands on him and tainted him to their world view.

But thankfully, that Grif wouldn't be around for much longer, not if he had any say in it.

"Seriously, you can make an AI without bags under his eyes but you can't fix yourself? Talk about a skewed perception of self-care," Grif said amused, taking a small amount of joy at making digs at Temple's appearance.

Damon had shown him the side-by-side of Grif and what Biff used to look like, so he knows that Grif himself looks very different. 

And yet, he wanted to see it with his own eyes. Wanted to see all the progress and all the difference that just seven percent could make.

"You know," he starts. "I don't find it very fair that you get to see what I look like, and yet, you can hide behind a helmet."

"Life's not fair so fuck off," Grif didn't even humor the idea. "And enough with the small talk, I'm here for answers."

"Answers?" Temple walked over to one of the chairs in the office, settling down on it and crossing one leg over the other to exude an air of _control_ and confidence. "I might have some of those given the right questions."

Grif didn't sit down at the opposing chair, opting to stay standing. But he did move away from the pair of AI's that were still embraced, glowing brightly as they likely communicated between code.

Temple was very jealous of the two, the more that he watched them.

"First things first," Grif started. "Why did you give me an AI?"

"Why not," Temple shrugged. "Thought it'd be a fun experiment. I had no use for him after all."

"Bullshit," the other man pointed a finger at him. "You don't just hand out AI's like candy. Especially if they're smart AI's. What's the real reason?"

"I just wanted to see what would happen," Temple's eyes glinted dangerously. "And let me tell you, from what I've seen, it was all worth it."

"Ok, asshole, as if you couldn't turn the creepiness up a dial you managed to do so," shaking his head, Grif hissed. "Fine, if you don't wanna give me a straight answer I'm not gonna prod. I've only got like, an hour, with you before the guards come to take you back to your cell."

"Speaking of which, kudos to you for your wonderful infiltration idea," Temple applauded. "It didn't even occur to me as to who you were before you spoke. How did you manage to get your hands on medical armor?"

"Not that it matters to you, but I've been putting Pythias to good use at a hospital," the other man said.

Now that caught him off guard.

"What help could Pythias possibly have at a hospital?" he asked, confused. As far as he knew, his barring of letting the other AI onto the internet was still in place. It wasn't as though the AI could look up things for a doctor, it just wasn't possible.

"Uh, hello, medical AI? What other use could he possibly have?" now Grif sounded confused.

Medical AI? That was news to Temple.

Pythias wasn't designed with the intent to make a medical AI, he was a latch ditch effort to save an otherwise dying project. It was like what everyone liked to repeat- Pythias was a fragment. Nothing more. And not even a good fragment at that.

This must have been the fault of Loco, something that he added in when fragmenting Pythias. Although Temple couldn't believe that that idiot had managed to keep something secret from him.

Even in death, the Blue managed to surprise and exasperate him.

"Right, of course," he said, trying not to show his surprise. "You must have other questions, right?"

"Yeah, such as why'd you even do all this in the first place, and I'm not talking about the AI's, I'm talking about you trying to destroy the UNSC," Grif asked, shocking Temple.

"I thought I at least made _that_ clear," Temple chuckled. "I hate-"

"Them, yeah I get that, and honestly get in line buddy," it sounded like Grif was rolling his eyes by his tone of voice. "You and every other villain. But at least those guys don't try and pretend that it wasn't something else that made them do it. So tell me- why?"

Why indeed.

"Tell you what," Temple leaned forward. "I'll tell you everything, and _more_ if you do one itsy-bitsy favor for me?"

"Depends on the favor," Grif responded, guarded in his response.

"As you know, the UNSC arrested me and my compatriots," he accompanied this by a gesture at his prison uniform. "And have likely searched high and hell through my liar at Desert Gulch."

And probably had a field day when they noticed the bodies of those Freelancers. He wonders if they moved them, laid them to rest, or if they just left them there to rot.

He hopes it's the latter.

"But," he emphasized. "There's something they're never going to find- hell, they probably wouldn't even know where to look if they tried."

"And that something is?" Grif said annoyed with all the dragging on.

"Something important to me, or rather, someone important," Temple left out just _who_ it was. He figured a surprise would be just what Grif needed. "And! Another gift for you."

"I'm not too sure I like your gifts," the other man said.

"You liked Pythias well enough, didn't you?" Temple jerked his head over to where the aforementioned AI was with Damon. "And besides, don't you trust me?"

He was possibly taking too much of a chance with that last, but it was now or never to see what seven percent could do to warp a person's perceptions.

Grif followed his gaze, and stayed silent for a pause, before he groaned and said, "Fine. Tell me where to look and I'll bring you your damn thing. But _not_ because I'm helping you, this is for purely selfish reasons alone."

"You might have to go for a bit of a swim," he tried to fight off the amused smile that threatened to spill across his lips. "But so long as you avoid the aquatic life, you'll find a storage container. Inside is what I want, but feel free to open it of your own accord! I won't mind!"

"You're literally the fucking worst and I hate you," although he didn't say this with too much conviction. The merger at influence perhaps. Temple hoped it at the very least. "Whatever, fine, I'll go get it. And the gift?"

"Check my office's storage closet, Pythias will be able to open it for you," Temple leaned back in his chair. 

The other man nodded, before glancing to the side at the two AI's. They seemed to have finished their little conversation, and given the satisfied humming at the back of his thoughts, Temple knew that Damon was pleased to have a chance to talk to Pythias.

Pythias returned back to Grif's side, arms and hands back in his stationary position. 

"I'll return whenever I'm done," Grif said. "But I've got like... twenty more minutes with you, and since you're not going to talk anymore, I'm at a loss on what to do now."

Well, there was one thing they could do...

"How about we play twenty-questions?" he asked with a smile.

* * *

Although Simmons very much does _not_ want to think about Grif at the moment, he can't help but think that at the very least he had a point about comfort food.

Because the sugar-free vanilla ice cream that he's been eating for the past _hour_ has really been helping him muffle his tears.

Not that he has any _real_ reason to be crying like this- it wasn't like Grif had to tell him about- about this other person. It wasn't any of Simmons' business.

And even if it felt like Grif had reciprocated, obviously he had imagined that. Because Grif wouldn't be the type to cheat, that'd require too much work and going behind people's backs- and even though Grif had already been doing that to avoid him and the guys that was obviously different so- no, Grif wouldn't cheat.

Simmons had just been an idiot is all.

So he'd holed himself in his room. For the past few days. Eating all different types of ice cream, supporting the local community by buying it from a start-up Chorisian business.

He hadn't even put on proper clothes yet, just wearing a ratty old tank top and sweats.

Now he was really acting like Grif...

It was just as he was raising his spoon to his mouth, to shovel in another spoonful of creamy goodness, the door to his room burst open with the shout of, "SIMMONS!" causing him to inadvertently shove the spoon against the back of his throat.

Gagging and coughing, he pulled the spoon out of his mouth and dropped it into the container, and through bleary eyes, he watched as the intruder fretted nervously from his place in the doorway.

Once his eyes had finally stopped crying, for more physical pained reasons this time instead of like before, he finally had the ability to see who had almost caused him to choke to death on a fucking utensil.

"Donut?!" he screeched, even through a throat sore from misuse. "What the- why didn't you _knock?!"_

"Simmons now is not the time for accusations!" Donut exclaimed, rushing into the room as soon as he was sure that Simmons wasn't going to keel over from suffocation. "We're having a team meeting, stat!"

Grabbing onto Simmons' arm, he started dragging the downtrodden man out of the bed, ignoring his yells of, "WAIT- Let me- Let me put on clothes _first!"_

"Not enough time, we need to get you out of here pronto!" Donut continued to pull him towards the common area. 

"This better not be an intervention, Donut! I'm- I'm fine," his voice cracked slightly.

Donut paused and looked him over, cringing at his state of appearance, before pursing his lips and saying, "This isn't an intervention- _yet-_ this is way more important. Which isn't to say you're not important, Simmons! But this is more a matter of life and death than the death of your love life."

"Thanks, Donut, you really know how to make a guy feel better," Simmons muttered, yanking his arm out of Donut's grip, perfectly capable of walking unassisted, thank you very much. 

When they arrived in the common area, Simmons was immediately assaulted by two very different yells.

Kai upon seeing him yelled, "Wow, you look like shit!"

Whereas Tucker upon seeing him yelled, "Your boyfriend tried _killing Wash!"_

"Wait, what," Simmons ignored Kai in favor of looking at Tucker, who had his mouth twisted in a scowl as he clenched his fists. "Are you saying that Grif's the one you saw holding a knife to Wash?!"

"That's exactly what I'm saying!" Tucker seemed to have lost steam and relaxed his tense shoulders. "I did a little- well, ok, a _lot_ of snooping and found a video of the event. So, I followed the guy throughout the day via the security camera and caught Grey calling him Grif!"

"But that's-" Simmons swallowed nervously. "You wouldn't happen to have the video on hand would you?"

"Yeah, duh," Tucker rolled his eyes, picking up a datapad and shoving it in his face. "I _knew_ you'd demand proof, so I copied the videos onto here."

Taking the datapad, he watched as a figure wearing the same armor that he had seen Grif wearing when he had caught him sneaking in.

Sighing, he settled the datapad against the table, saying, "Yeah, that's Grif alright."

"What the fuck dude?!" Tucker smacked his shoulder slightly. "Did you know that he was working at the hospital?!"

"Yo si," _I did,_ Lopez spoke up, throwing in his two cents. "Eres un idiota por no darte cuenta. Aquí también hay cámaras de seguridad, ¿por qué no las revisaste?" _You're an idiot for not noticing. There are security cameras here too, why didn't you check those?_

"Lopez," Tucker turned towards him. "If I wanted input that I couldn't understand, I would have addressed you and not Simmons."

"Puta," _Bitch,_ Lopez bit back at him in his monotonous voice.

"I don't think I like your tone," Tucker glared suspiciously at the robot.

"We're getting off track here!" Donut stepped in, hands akimbo, and redirecting Tucker's gaze causing him to inadvertently miss Lopez flipping the bird at him. "There's something seriously wrong with Grif!"

"You're telling me," Kai huffed. "I haven't even seen him in like forever! And when I do manage to catch his attention he either ignores me or calls me some ridiculous name."

"About that-" Donut tried to explain, but was cut off by Kai's angry huff.

"And it's not even like, Sister or any of my other numerous nicknames!" she threw her hands in the air. "And I'm his _sister!"_

"That's the thing! I think-" Donut tried once more.

"Now that you mention it, the dirtbag _has_ been more confused the usual," Sarge said thoughtfully. "Either my hearing's been wasting away, or he's called me Surge at least once since we got here."

"You too?" Caboose blinked at him. "He's been calling me Loco, and while we were very similar, I don't think it's a very fair comparison."

Donut exclaimed brightly, "Exactly! Now, don't you think-"

"Because my visor is gold and his was blue," Caboose explains. "And I am alive and he is, hm... not."

The Blue got a sad look on his face, and even though he'd been interrupted again, Donut still reached out to give the man a comforting squeeze on his arm. Caboose looked up and gave him a grateful smile.

Simmons almost hated to speak up.

"He hasn't called me Gene..." he said quietly, trying to not feel jealous at the fact that it seemed like everyone _else_ was getting miscalled their doppelgangers name. 

All he got when Grif looked at him was the name of some chick named Georgina...

"That's... strange," Donut admitted. "But guys! I think I know what's been going on!"

"Oh, really now?" Tucker settled back down on the couch. "You, _Donut,_ have an idea about what's been going on with Grif? Oh, please, do tell."

Ignoring Tucker's sass, Donut got a very serious look on his face as he said, "Now, it's going to sound crazy, but! I think Temple did something to Grif."

And at the mention of that bastard's name, all of them stiffened, some even sat higher in their seats more at attention to the conversation.

"What do you mean by that," Tucker asked, all disbelief that Donut knew something gone from his voice.

"Back when the Blues and Reds were getting all buddy-buddy with us, Cronut revealed something to me," Donut explained. "He said that they used to have an orange soldier once and that he was a blond!"

"What does that have to do anything?" Simmons asked, before hearing Kai gasp loudly.

"Grif dyed his hair blond!" she exclaimed in realization.

Donut snapped at her saying, "Exactly! So now this is going to sound unbelievable, but it could be possible!"

He paced around a little bit, gesturing with his hand as he said, "What if Temple got Loco to build _another device,_ one that could transfer minds, and used it to bring back this other orange soldier by replacing Grif with him!"

They all sat in silence after hearing his theory, ruminating on it, until a new voice interrupted, saying, "It's a nice guess, Donut" causing them to turn around and look at the speaker.

"Carolina!" Donut squeaked. "I didn't know you were still in the apartment, I would have gotten you for the meeting!"

"If that's not what's going on with Grif, then do _you_ know Carolina," Tucker asked, looking suspicious at her well-timed entrance.

"I do," her eyes darkened at the thought. "But you're all not going to like the answer."

"Please, anything involving Grif is something that I won't like," Sarge scoffed.

"He's got an AI," she said bluntly, like ripping a band-aid clean off instead of easing it off.

They, as a collective, yelled, "He's got a _WHAT?!"_

She shrugged from her position leaning against the frame to the hallway. "Believe me, I was just as shocked as you are now."

"And how did you find this out," Simmons asked, his mind racing. How could he _not_ notice Grif getting an AI?!

"At Locus' trial, he said some... things that I took offense to, and when confronting him I noticed the implant," Carolina frowned at the memory, a hurt look flashing across her face.

"What type of things?" he couldn't help but ask. Carolina looked hurt at just thinking about it, but Grif was friends with the Freelancer! He wouldn't say something deliberately hurtful, maybe a bit mean, but his barbs never had any real thorns to them.

But considering that he held Wash at knifepoint, maybe he didn't know Grif as well as he thought he did...

"You'd be surprised at the type of things he said," Carolina stated. "But if you must know, he implied some very... hurtful comments about me."

"He talked about you at Locus' trial?" but that didn't make any sense. What could have prompted him into talking about Carolina at a trial for a genocidal murderer? 

It sounded like something Temple would-

Perhaps...

Maybe Carolina was too quick to dismiss Donut's theory.

"But that's not what's important," Carolina shook her head. "All you need to know is that he somehow has gotten his hands on an AI."

"That explains why his implant looked so different," Donut exclaimed. "I noticed it when I was helping to fix up his hair."

"He _cut_ his hair?" Simmons asked, not knowing when that happened. He'd been in his room for a long time apparently, long enough to have missed all of this.

"Priorities, Simmons," Kai chastised. 

"So this is just supposed to explain why he's been acting so kooky?" Tucker asked. "Is this like an O'Malley situation or what?"

"Maybe, _I_ could help explain, Captain," a new voice said, appearing out of nowhere, causing Simmons and a few others to jump, even _yelp_ at the intrusion.

Because somehow- _somehow_ Dr. Grey had managed to get into their apartment.

"What the fuck?! Where did you _come_ from," Tucker exclaimed, a hand pressed tightly against his chest as his eyes were wide.

"I snuck in," Grey explained, gesturing down the hall where their individual rooms where. 

"How?!" Tucker asked voice strained.

Narrowing his eyes, Simmons asked, "You didn't happen to come up through the fire escape did you?"

Looking shocked at him, Grey blinked, before answering, "Yes, actually. How did you know?"

"That's how Grif's been sneaking in and out of the apartment," Simmons answered.

Grey pursed her lips, mumbling, "Smart cookie."

"What are you doing here," Carolina accused, easing out of her relaxed position to something far more guarded.

Glancing in her direction, Grey seemed hurt and even frowned a tad before covering it with a smile and a chirp of, "Why, I'm here to help!"

"Help how," Kai asked, looking her up and down.

"Well, I was sure that you'd all be concerned about your fellow Captain, and considering that I'm one of the only people besides himself and the AI that has any clear idea of what's been going on, I thought I'd come clean finally," her eyes darted towards the floor before looking back up at all of them. 

"What do you mean, 'come clean'," Sarge narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms as he leaned forward. 

Taking a deep breath, Grey steeled herself for their responses, as she said, "Well, I'm the one who performed the surgery on Captain Grif after all. I was in on the whole thing."

Simmons felt the urge to yell at her, but the urge was very quickly quelled when he saw the way her eyes were pinched tightly and the stiffness of her stance. A quick look at Carolina made him realize that perhaps she had already been admonished.

So instead, he took in his own deep breath, and asked, "So you know where he got the AI from then?"

Surprised at his lack of anger, Grey seemed slightly off-put as she pulled out a small notebook answering, "Well, no. But perhaps if I share my observations with you all, you could find something that I could not."

"Alright, Grey, let's hear what you've got," Tucker leaned back into his seat, a cross look on his face. "I'm hoping there's an explanation on why Grif tried stabbing Wash that one time."

"Of course, Captain," Grey nodded. Flipping open the notebook, she skimmed through the pages as she said, "The thing about proper implantation is this: very often, some melding will occur between the AI and the recipient. It's natural, but sometimes it can end up disastrous."

"Like what happened with Wash and Epsilon," Carolina said, voice tight as she warily watched the doctor.

Finger stilling across a page, Grey nodded saying, "Yes, like what happened with Agent Washington and Epsilon."

"Normally, most AI's are _not_ based on a living person," Grey continued. "So melding generally means knowing more facts than you should or being able to calculate things at the drop of a hat. It gets more complicated when you throw in an entirely new person into the equation. In those cases, melding usually has bled through memories."

"In the case of Epsilon, the trauma of fragmenting caused all of the memories that he contained to be forced onto Wash," Carolina explained. "He's better now, but I'm sure you've all at least seen how sometimes, he might think he's a different person."

Immediately Tucker nodded, muttering an affirmation of, "Yeah."

"That's an extreme case," Grey said. "At the time of the surgery, neither Grif nor I knew that the AI was based on someone else. So when I thought of melding I had assumed it'd be the general symptoms. We even had Santa vouch for the AI, so as far as we knew, the procedure would go off safely."

A look of consideration flashed onto Carolina's face, causing her to look away.

"But?" Tucker asked.

"But that doesn't seem to be the case," Grey looked ashamed. "It must have been something wrong with the surgery, Pythias seems like a very caring AI I can't imagine that he means to cause all these memory issues."

"Wait," Simmons perked up. "So if Grif's been having memory problems then does that mean- that, uh..." he trailed off becoming embarrassed at what he was gonna ask.

"Has he been calling you the wrong name?" Grey asked. "I've made a list of all the incorrect names he's called people, I can understand that it must be a little demeaning that he's accidentally called you Georgina, right Captain?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Simmons nodded his head quickly, externally looking like he's glad to have an explanation for why he's been called the wrong name.

But internally?

Internally he's fucking _cheering._

It's such a relief to know that it was a simple _misunderstanding._ There was no _other person,_ Grif _did_ reciprocate. 

There was only _Simmons_ in his life.

Kai gives him a look and he knows exactly what she wants to say to him.

Priorities. Right, he had to get his shit together.

He could get a celebrate later.

"I almost weaseled out the name of who Pythias was based on," Grey continued, unaware of how she just made Simmons' entire fucking week. "But Captain Grif moved away, and Pythias disappeared. Before he did, however, he did tell me the most peculiar of things."

"And what would that be?" Carolina asked, looking much more weary instead of wary.

"He said that he was a fragment of an AI based on someone and that unlike Epsilon who fragmented from someone good, he came from someone 'not so great'," closing her book, she slipped it underneath her coat. "It's very... concerning."

Donut looked up and asked, "Grey, would one of those names that he's mixed up happen to be Mark or Temple?"

"Yes, but only to Mark," she said. "I assumed that perhaps it was someone that Pythias knew, but I recognize the name Temple from the news."

Looking at each other, Simmons was all sure that they came to the same conclusion. 

Temple was the guy who made and _gave_ Grif this new AI.

But why the orange soldier would trust anything made by that maniac is beyond Simmons.

"Ok, guys here's the plan," Tucker stood up. "We need to find Grif, take that AI out of his head, and hope that it fixes everything!"

"At the very least let me try to correct the mistakes I made in the surgery!" Grey begged. "Pythias really is a good AI, he means no harm."

"Only if Dex agrees to it," Kai said, cutting off whatever response Tucker was going to say.

"Alright, fine," Tucker rolled his eyes. "But he's got to at least make a convincing argument whenever we find him."

"I'm ready to assist you all as best I can," Grey said.

"Yeah no, you're staying right here," Tucker said, shaking his head.

Grey looked shocked as she stared at him, "What?! Captain, I assure you that I would be more assistance if I went with you-"

"You've done enough harm, Grey," Carolina spoke up.

Silent for a pause, Grey looked to the side, saying, "Well, you won't be able to find him without my help anyhow."

"What do you mean by that?" Simmons asked.

"He's not on Chorus," Grey said, shrugging her shoulders but not shrugging off the concern on her face.

"What do you mean by not on Chorus," he asked, both panicked and concerned.

Pulling out a hospital issued datapad this time, Grey gestured towards an open application, explaining, "All medical armors are equipped with a tracking device. It's so that we can easily radio to whichever nurse or doctor is closest for assistance. A few days ago, not long after the disaster that was Locus' trial, I saw Grif's signal leave Chorus."

"And you're only coming to us now?" his heart dropped at hearing what she said. 

"I thought it couldn't possibly be true, with how adamant he seemed about saving Locus' life I didn't think he'd just up and leave!" she exclaimed.

"Well, can it tell us where he is now?" Kai asked.

Nodding her head she gestured to the pad again, saying, "Of course, but only coordinates. I can't tell you exactly where he is, but at least it's something."

"Then we need to get a move on before he can get any further," Carolina said, moving closer towards the group. 

Her eyes looked towards the datapad, and Grey pressed it closer to herself.

"I'm coming along," she said confidently. "Otherwise I won't hand over the pad. And even if you take it, it won't open without hospital authorization."

The two had a small staring contest, and while Simmons was concerned that Carolina would just take the datapad, consequences be damned, it turns out his concern was misplaced because she only sighed and conceded, "Fine. But you're to stay out of harm's way."

"You won't have to worry about me, Agent," Grey seemed relieved. "I know how to handle myself."

And with that settled, all that was left to do was find Grif. And save his dumb ass from the mess that he got himself into

* * *

Now that he's all alone in Temple's base at Desert Gulch without backup in any form, Grif can admit that the place is spooky as all hell.

The haunting hallways that seemed more like a labyrinth than any normal military base, the dripping water from the pipes, and even the glass planes that seemed to stretch on forever showing off the ocean and animals that were just outside of canyon, all of it worked together in sympathy to make the perfect setting for a horror film.

Since he already knew the way to it, Grif headed towards Temple's office, trying his best not to jump at every little noise that he heard.

The scratching and scuttling of little feet indicated that rats had now inhabited the abandoned base, and that did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves.

The office, when he finally arrived, looked like it had been ransacked. The computer monitor was on the ground, cracked and smashed in with a very noticeable boot print on it, and other assorted items with on the ground.

He expected perhaps there might have been paper of some sort laying around, as Temple seemed the type to find the benefits of having paper instead of electronic records in this day and age, but the UNSC wouldn't be so lazy as to not take everything with them.

So long as his so-called 'gift' was still in the building then he didn't give a single shit about all this other junk.

Making his way towards the closet, Pythias appeared at his side, ready at command for him.

Gesturing towards the closet, he asked, "Open this, will you?"

Without another word, Pythias disappeared into the electronic lock, only coming back out when the light turned green and a beep sounded.

Grabbing the handle, Grif opened the door, ready for some sort of bullshit that Temple would find funny as a 'gift.'

Instead, he was greeted with something that he's wanted for a very, very long time.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, immediately reaching in and grabbing the Grifshot that hung proudly on the closet rack. "How did he get his hands on this?!"

The familiar weight in his hands gave him a sense of relief, he had genuinely gotten attached to the weapon. 

But upon closer inspection, he noticed something off about the weapon. For one thing, it looked too... _new_ to have been the same Grifshot that he came to love. All the scratches and wear in the paint was gone. And, if he looked close enough, he could see that underneath all the paint, it looked very hodgepodge in the same manner that Pythias' implant looked. 

He could also notice the carved in signature of 'Loco' on the side of it, hidden beneath black paint.

So it was an imitation of the _actual_ Grifshot. He felt slightly disappointed but then realized that a substitute was just fine enough for him.

Sometimes substitutes could be better than the original even!

And well, so long as it looked the same, he saw absolutely no reason to complain about the Grifshot Two.

Which meant that now he actually felt obligated to go and find Temple's thing.

Which meant...

Yep, he was going to have to find some sort of entrance to the ocean that lay outside. Fuck.

He supposed it shouldn't be _too_ hard. 

* * *

As it turns out, walking underwater in your armor was not only possible but _very_ efficient. So that part of the search was easy.

What wasn't easy, was the actual _searching_ part of the whole thing. He has absolutely _no idea_ how long he spent walking across the ocean floor looking for some fucking storage container.

And every time one of those fucking creatures came near him, he stood rock solid in the hopes that they wouldn't notice him, but more importantly not fucking _eat him._

It was a very happy sight when he noticed the storage unit half buried in the sand. Walking over towards it, he had to pull it out of the ocean floor and wait for the shifted sand to settle back down again.

Thankfully, Pythias was able to point him in the right direction towards the base.

Which, in total, left him absolutely dripping wet, making a big ass puddle from where he was standing in Temple's office once more. Wet footsteps led outside of the room, in the same direction that he had traveled.

"What do you think about it," he asked Pythias as he dried off. 

The AI seemed tense and apprehensive at the sight of the container, shrugging, "Could be anything really."

"Yeah," he nodded absentmindedly. 

That nagging feeling at the back of his head that wouldn't stop being curious for a single second wanted him to open it.

Temple had said it was ok, right? So why shouldn't he...

"Hey, Grif?" Pythias spoke up. "Maybe we should just, you know, get it back to Temple now. I'm sure by walking you'll get most of the water off."

Looking up at the AI, he raised a brow, asking, "Aren't you a little curious about what's inside?"

"Nope, I'm absolutely terrified," he exclaimed.

Narrowing his eyes, he remarked, "That almost sounds like you know what's in it."

"Ok, let's just say I do, then you should listen to me when I say that that's a bad idea," Pythias fretted. "You know what, let's not even give it to Temple! Let's just chuck it back into the ocean and say that we tried, it's the effort that counts, right?"

"Well, now I'm definitely going to open it," he told the AI, fingers already pressing into the clasp of the device.

"Wait- _don't!"_ but Pythias disappeared into the implant the second the device was completely open, entirely out of fear.

And why he did so is unknown to Grif.

Because all it was was another AI implant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, here it is! The penultimate chapter until you all will _finally_ get a chance to see Dionysius. I'm so excited to finally show him off to you all! Ok, I'll stop talking before I spoil something.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


	8. The Villain Has Won in the End, Yes, But Which?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Dyl, were those puddles there before?" a voice echoed through the silent base, causing Grif to stiffen and drop both of the implants onto the floor.
> 
> "No they were not, Tilly," a completely different voice responded. "I think we have a mystery on our hands- _someone_ who's not supposed to be here... _is_ here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day has come, the moment both y'all and I have waited for. _Dionysius_.
> 
> See here's what's funny, my Beta asked _me_ to beta something for her, talk about ironic. So I'm gonna start pestering her, or my back up bitch, but for now, all mistakes are mine. Hope you all enjoy!

An AI. That's what he walked across the bottom of the ocean for. An AI.

Of fucking  _ course. _

He shouldn't be surprised. Really, he shouldn't.

_ Everything _ boiled down to AI shenanigans as of late. That's just been the story of his life for the past few years.

Now, naturally, he wants to claim that this whole mess was because of Blue Team problems, as most AI bullshit was, but this was something that he got himself into, so he couldn't really make that argument.

Or, perhaps by extension of Temple, maybe he still could since  _ technically _ he's the bastard that ordered the creation of the AI's and well, he's on Blue Team after all.

But still, he's partially disappointed that this thing that Temple wanted so  _ badly _ was just another AI. Seriously, how many of these damn things did he have? 

Pythias was being awfully quiet in his head, and if he had lungs, Grif's sure that he'd probably be holding his breath in fear of being heard.

What's so frightening about an AI? Wasn't there some sort of camaraderie between AI's if they were made by the same person usually?

Rolling the implant between his fingers, he squinted his eyes as he looked at the red lines that were drawn all over the damn thing. Silver and red, it made quite an impression when he considered the mashed together look of it. And it's shape...

He's definitely seen that shape before.

Placing it down on the desk, he reached up to take off his helmet. He almost wanted to reach up and shake his hair loose from the typical bun that he put it in, but his fingers merely traced his head before he remembered that he had cut it shorter. 

For a minute he had almost forgotten about that.

No matter, he had other things to think about concerning his head. 

Like how he was grateful that the helmet was able to prevent any water from getting in and making him literally wet from head to toe.

And...

Removing Pythias.

As he reached up to take out the implant, he felt the AI come out of the shell that it had hidden in, sending out a very intense pulse of fear, just as he was removed from the base of his neck.

And as soon as the AI was removed from, well, his head it was suddenly like he could think much,  _ much _ clearer.

He didn't feel any painful throbbing on his temple's, no more nagging feeling that made it hard to think straight.

Part of him feels like he should review  _ all _ of the things he's done for the past few months.

But that would be work that he didn't  _ need _ to do, and he honestly doesn't care that much.

So he gets back to what he was previously doing, comparing the two AI implants.

And yep, it's as he thought. The two implants are nearly identical except for the colors. They've both got the meshed look, obviously showing that it wasn't made in some fancy facility, but rather scraped together by an independent creator. 

Which, now that he thinks about, should concern him considering that he basically puts these things in his head.

Yeah, he's just not gonna think about it. 

Well, as interesting as seeing that they're exactly the same, it'd probably be too confusing to keep them both out at the same time, so here's just going to put the new one awa-

"Hey, Dyl, were those puddles there before?" a voice echoed through the silent base, causing Grif to stiffen and drop both of the implants onto the floor.

"No they were not, Tilly," a completely different voice responded. "I think we have a mystery on our hands-  _ someone _ who's not supposed to be here...  _ is _ here."

Turning towards the ajar door, he fully expected to see a bunch of UNSC soldiers aiming their weapons at him.

Of course, of  _ fucking _ course a few months weren't enough for the UNSC to lose interest in this place. They probably came back  _ just _ to spite him.

Just his fucking  _ luck. _

Now he needed to get out of here without being seen. And who knew how many soldiers were roaming the bases' previously empty halls!

He went to return the implants to their proper locations but looked down to realize that he had dropped them.

Panicking, he didn't pay much attention which implant was which. He merely popped one into the storage container, and the other into the base of his neck.

He felt Pythias nestle deep and comfortably back into the recesses of his mind, his presence much more noticeable after that brief moment where they were disconnected from each other.

Turning to get his helmet, he keeps an ear out for the soldiers, fastening the piece as quickly as he could.

It's as he turns around that he's greeted by an unfamiliar red and blue sight.

The projection before him stares at him straight on, yellowed and sickly eyes accentuating it's bright blue eyes. Artificial blood creeps down its chin, the animation causing no droplets to fall.

The same couldn't be said however, for the blood that dripped off of the broken and jagged pole that protruded from its chest. It fell in a timed cycle, but the bright red blood on the pole made his eyes notice the bright red and pulsing cracks that spawned from the poles entry point in the chest plate. Those same cracks dug into the cheeks of the projections sporadically, looking like blood splatters at initial glance.

The muted red AI was also fuzzy at its corners, glitching out on certain sections of its body, one of its fingers completely disconnected because of it.

There's one thing for certain.

This is most certainly not Pythias.

"You're not-" he began to say.

"Pythias?" the AI asked, voice sounding near identical to the aforementioned AI, but with the additional buffer of sounding like it was coming from a radio station. 

The AI chuckled slightly, looking amused.

As he did so, the pain in his head increased tenfold.

"No," the AI exclaimed, as Grif started to black out. "No, I am not."

* * *

Now that Grif had taken the bait once more, Temple just had to figure out a way to get him to actually implant Dionysius.

He could  _ force _ him to implant it. But, he really doubted that he'd be able to overpower the more experienced soldier.

There's a reason why he resorted to having others doing all the heavy lifting after all. And why he froze the Freelancers and left them to rot in their suits, instead of putting a bullet in their heads.

Besides taking utter satisfaction in it. That was also a reason.

So that was out.

Temple could always trick him into doing it, manipulation at its finest.

That was the more likely option.

But, there was always the possibility that Grif could do it himself.

Nope, that wouldn't happen, Temple's not that lucky and Grif's not  _ that _ curious. Or stupid.

In the thrill of having his plan completed so soon, he hadn't bothered Damon with anything as of late. 

Sure, the AI was a useful tool. But with his best friend by his side again, he really doubted that he'd need to use the AI nearly as much as he had been.

So he left the AI alone, not prodding it with commands. Damon could rest now, Temple would let him know when he was needed.

In the wake of Grif's departure, he found himself back to waiting around the jail cell for his return. That's all he seemed to do, just sit and wait around.

But he kept himself busy with his thoughts. On what he would do when he got out of here, whether he should try to get revenge on the UNSC again, no matter how small the act ended up being.

Or whether he should just be satisfied with having Biff back again, and just, retire somewhere where they couldn't be found. 

There must have been something left of Mark that had aspirations before getting swooped up into the SIM Program of Project Freelancer. What did he want to do with his life before signing up for the military?

He can't think of anything. He didn't think he was that  _ bland. _

That could be the next thing he concerns himself about after he gets Biff back in his grasp-

A creaking sound caused his eyes to fly open and turn towards the cells only other occupant. Temple hadn't been able to sleep soundly in wait for his victory, every little sound could get him flinging out of the bed expecting to see Biff again.

Looking at Buckey, he saw how his fellow inmate had stilled, eyes wide as he stared straight at Temple.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the other man and hissed, "What are you doing?"

"Oh you know," his fellow Blue chuckled nervously. "Was going to stretch my legs a bit. Couldn't sleep."

"Whatever," he responded, disinterested in the mundane reasoning. 

He leaned back down to sleep once more when Buckey hesitantly spoke up, "Hey, uh, Temple?"

"What could you possibly want now?" he propped himself up on his elbows. 

"I just wanted to know if you're actually serious about all this," Buckey said. "I just wanted to make sure, one last time."

"You're beginning to sound like a broken record now," he rolled his eyes. "Figure it out yourself- everything I've done so far, does it indicate that I'm anything  _ besides _ serious."

"Even though it's wrong," Buckey stressed again, for what felt like the millionth time to Temple since they've been incarcerated.

"What's wrong and what's right is subjective," Temple said, looking at the bars of the cell. "Humans created morals and ethics themselves, and meanings change over time."

"That's not for you to decide," the Blue frowned, eyes darting to the side so that he wasn't looking at the other man. 

"Says who?" he challenged.

Buckey didn't respond to that, changing the subject with a, "So you're going to be leaving soon?"

"Yes, I am," Temple felt the corners of his lips turn up in a smirk. "Don't act like you're gonna miss me."

"The only one I  _ might _ miss is Damon," Buckey rolled his eyes. "But I don't think I will in the end."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

"Because I'm not the type of person to do that," the Blue shrugged. "Whatever, shouldn't you be sleeping? Wouldn't want you to look like shit in front of your best friend."

"As if I can sleep with your incessant ramblings," but he laid down nonetheless. "Why would you even ask if I'm serious when you should know better by now?"

"Just wanted to make sure one last time before you leave," Buckey got up and off the cot, stretching his arms over his head. "Night, bitch."

"Go fuck yourself," he closed his eyes. 

He supposes Buckey may have had a point, as much as it physically pained him to admit that. He couldn't do much if he was sleep deprived because he stayed up  _ waiting. _

And he eventually did end up falling asleep, proper sleep where he couldn't hear or feel a thing.

And it was nice. Refreshing even.

He was at the finish line now. He  _ deserved _ this.

* * *

Temple wakes up to the jeers and yells of a few inmates, and as he blinks the last remnants of sleep away, he has to wonder what exactly those fucking morons were getting up to.

And why the guards hadn't come by now to quiet them down.

But seeing the oddly colored armored man waiting outside the cells, he had all of his answers. 

Except Grif was unattended by any guards. So perhaps this time he snuck in.

"Well that was quick," he said, getting up and off of the cot. "So did you find it? I can see you found your gift."

A quick glance showed that his imitation weapon had found a new home with the Red. After watching countless hours of footage of the Reds and Blues, he figured that it'd be a fitting peace offering to give.

"Well the thing is Mark," the man answered, with a voice so familiar that it made his heart shudder to a stop. "I'm not actually sure what you mean by that."

No way, surely he wasn't this lucky.

Leaping towards the bars of the cell, a grin broke across his face as he let hope spill into his voice, saying, "Biff is- is it really you?"

"Of course, who else would it be," his tone was light and joking just the way it was in his memories.

The utter delight that filled his being to the brim was partially interrupted by Buckey also getting off of his cot and stepping away towards the back of the cell, a hand worrying over the back of his neck, asking, "It's not... you're really Biff?"

"Oh shoot, is that whole Red versus Blue thing still going on," Biff whispered to Temple. "Should I be pretending not to be your...  _ you know... _ friend right now?"

"No!" Temple shook his head. "I did it, I got rid of that whole bullshit. Now we don't have to hide our friendship anymore!"

"Oh that's a relief," he sighed. "No more sneaking out at night."

"Right," Temple smiled genuinely.

"Should I bother with introducing myself," Biff turned towards Buckey. "Pretty sure you know me as that 'bastard of a red,' right?"

"Right," Buckey said warily, not removing his hand from his neck. "How do you know that this is actually him, and not Grif just fucking with you or something?"

"Of course it's him!" he bit back, but his brows furrowed as an inkling of doubt wormed its way into his thoughts.

"Do you need me to prove it?" Biff asked. "Because I could go on and on about that one time, in gym class, you got so scared that a bee was chasing you during the mile run that you actually beat the school's all-time highest run-time."

And just like that, all miniature doubt was erased from his mind, as he chuckled, "Of course you'd remember that."

"Kinda hard to forget when your extremely unathletic friend was getting hounded by the track coach because he wanted him to join the team, whereas he just wanted to join the theatre club," Biff continued nostalgically.

"You're Biff alright," Temple said. "Same old asshole of a friend that I remember."

"Then that explains where you got your friend habits from," Buckey muttered, glowering at the back of his head.

"How'd you even end up in prison," Biff asked, looking around at the endless rows of jail cells. "Last I checked, you always said I'd be the one going to jail first."

Buckey opened his mouth to speak, but Temple interrupted him saying, "It doesn't matter, I'm putting it behind me."

By his body posture, he could tell that Biff was frowning as he asked, "Does it have something to do with my death?"

And like that whatever joy he had been feeling dropped like a stone to the very pit of his stomach. 

"What- what are you talking about, Samuel?" he used the long-abandoned first name of his friend. "What death?"

"Come on, Mark, don't lie to me," Biff shook his head. "I remember getting impaled, and pain, and then just darkness. And now I'm back somehow. I don't know how though."

"Oh," he said emotionlessly. He didn't think that Dionysius would have recorded that little detail. That's his own fault really, for not making sure that all the stored memories were in order.

After all, who could forget such a graphic event anyhow? 

Temple certainly didn't.

"Look I'm not complaining, I just-" Biff interrupted himself to sigh. "We can talk about this later, alright? First I gotta get you out of here."

"Of course," he falsely promised. If he had his way, they'd never bring up this topic ever again. He didn't need his substitute being tainted by... those memories. "And what of the guards?"

"Don't worry, I was able to handle them," Biff reached over to unlock the cell. "Honestly, this whole thing just proves how much more of a badass I am than you. Coming back from the dead, suddenly becoming more competent, you get what I mean."

"As if," he joked, fully prepared to follow his friend out of the prison ship that he's grown to fucking despise. "I'm sure that they have my armor in the storage-"

"Dexter Grif," Buckey blurted out as soon as Biff had entered the cell. 

The pair of them looked at Buckey, who was shaking nervously.

"That name, uh, doesn't ring any bells... does it," he offered an awkward smile.

"What the fuck are you trying to accomplish," Temple hissed. If that rat bastard was trying to ruin all his fucking progress he was gonna  _ ring him by his neck. _

"Just ignore him, Mark," Biff put his hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you out of here. You've been here long enough."

"Of course,  _ Biff," _ he stressed to spite Buckey. "Let's get out of here."

He walked out of the cell and made sure to lock it up, all nice and tight, again as he did so. Temple didn't even look back at his fellow Blue, convinced of his uselessness.

He didn't even look into the cells that contained the only other living members of his group- Cronut and Lorenzo- because he didn't need them.

He didn't even need any of them.

All he needed was Biff, and now he had gotten that.

On their way out, Temple was delighted to stop by the controls to the main cell block. 

He didn't want any of the prisoners making a ruckus once he was gone, so he needed to deal with them.

And spying the button that he was looking for, he fiddled with the controls before pressing it.

He quickly exited the area, pleased as the doors came to a close behind him, catching a glimpse of the struggling prisoners before they disappeared from sight.

A few minutes of suffocation never hurt  _ anyone _ too much after all. They'd all live.

And, it sure was funny to watch.

* * *

"Well then," Grey smiled pleasantly to the hush hull of the pelican they had commandeered. "This is quite exciting, wouldn't you all say the same?"

She looked to her left and right, getting no smiles in return, not even when she nudged Simmons with her elbow.

"No I wouldn't," Tucker grouched. "Why are you so chipper? We're literally on our way to stop Grif from being a fucking idiot."

"Sorry, I'm just excited to be on an adventure with you all," Grey flapped her hand in his direction.

"But you've literally been on missions with us before," Simmons pointed out, a pout on his face.

"Yes, but those were all on Chorus!" Grey chuckled. "This is actually the first time I've been outside of the planet in, well, I think most of my entire life actually."

After she said that, there was silence- a different type of silence than the one that she had broken originally. Her smile even faltered for a second, although it stayed plastered on her face.

A look of concern flashed onto Simmons' face, and he reached up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck, saying, "Well, at least it'll be, uh, an experience you'll... remember?"

Grey blinked at him, before her smile transformed into something much more genuine, responding, "That it will, my dear Captain. That it will."

"So," Tucker said after the moment had well and truly passed. "What's the plan so far for dealing with Grif?"

"A good ol' round to the head should do," Sarge barked out a laugh. "And I for one volunteer to-"

"That doesn't involve killing Grif," Tucker interrupted, not even sparing a glance to the Red soldier.

Scowling, Sarge huffed and dropped into his seat, crossing his arms and mumbling, "Ain't no fun allowed around you damn dirty Blues."

"Maybe we could find him and just, grab him?" Donut asked. "If all of us have a go at him at once then I'm sure-"

"Everyone who's not Sarge and Donut may be allowed to speak," Tucker cut off again.

Caboose opened his mouth and that alone was enough for Tucker who said, "I changed my mind, no one else is allowed to speak. I will be the only one who comes up with the plans at the moment."

Hearing a slight squeak of someone adjusting in their seat, he whipped his head towards Lopez who was looking at him from the pilot's seat in the cockpit.

"Don't," Tucker hissed jabbing a finger in his direction. "Speak. Cocksucker."

Turning around as slowly as possible, Lopez made sure Tucker knew exactly how he felt without a single word being spoken.

"How about," Carolina ground out.  _ "I _ come up with the plan."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," Tucker sighed. "But remember, the plan can't involve killing Grif."

"Don't think so little of me, Tucker," Carolina said. "Afterall, a little maiming never hurt anybody."

For just a moment, Tucker stared at her. Then, he turned to look towards Grey and said, very politely, "You know, Dr. Grey, since it's your first mission with us and all, maybe  _ you _ should come up with the plan."

"Oh, I don't know, Captain," she said bashfully with a look in Carolina's direction. "I couldn't!"

"Please," he begged. "With a cherry on top."

"Oh alright, I simply can't refuse when you're being that pathetic!" she giggled, bringing a hand to her lips daintily. Tucker cried out indignantly, despite the fact that both he and Simmons knew that he really was desperate like that. 

"So, what do you have in mind, Grey?" Simmons asked.

"I was thinking that perhaps I could try talking to him first?" she said.

"Talking?" he curled his lip slightly. 

"Yes,  _ talking," _ she rolled her eyes slightly. "You all are so predisposed to fighting first, and talking, well, never!"

"Says the woman who tortured a space pirate while listening to opera music," Tucker interjected with a flabbergasted look on his face, likely remember the screams.

And now Simmons was remembering them too. Great. And here he thought that he had buried away those memories nice and tight in his own Pandora's Box.

"But we were _ talking, _ Captain," she emphasized. "Weren't we?"

"How come," Caboose spoke up. "Miss Scary Doctor gets to maim Grif, but when Sarge, Carolina and  _ I _ want to do it, it's not allowed?"

"When were you thinking of maiming, Grif," Donut whispered to Caboose, putting a hand between his face and Simmons as if that would make it impossible for him to hear what he was saying.

"Around the time that the Sargent mentioned shooting him," Caboose whispered back, copying the pose. "I thought to myself, well, I am the  _ best _ at team killing so really it should be  _ me _ shooting Grif, you know?"

Donut nodded his head sagely, ignoring the death glare that Simmons was throwing his away.

"Anyhow!" Grey interrupted the side conversation that would have carried on between the two. "I think at the very least, my idea doesn't involve direct conflict."

"Alright Grey, we'll go with your idea," Carolina sighed, addressing her for the first time in a while. "But I want someone by your side the entire time, you're not exactly equipped for proper fighting."

"I understand, Agent," Grey nodded her head. "In that case, would you permit me to request having Captain Simmons by my side?"

"Of course," Carolina nodded, not fighting her choice even slightly. "Excuse me, I'm going to check in on Lopez."

"Be careful," Tucker said. "He might sass you in a whole other language and you'll be none the wiser."

Smirking at the Blue, Carolina said, "Unlike you, Tucker, I haven't pissed him off."

As Tucker was mocking her response, muttering it under his breath, Simmons turned towards Grey and swallowed nervously.

"You want me?" Simmons squeaked, immediately getting flustered. "What- but why me?"

"Do not sell yourself short, Captain," Grey looked at him. "Your skills are exactly what I need for this mission."

Unconsciously, he preened at the praise, but quickly deflated when Tucker looked at him and said, "What she means is, she's going to use you for emotional manipulation."

"I'm absolutely going to use you as emotional manipulation," she nodded her head, corroborating with what Tucker said.

"Oh," he pouted, slinking into his seat.

"Look alive people," Carolina announced suddenly, leaning over Lopez's shoulder to peer out the cockpit window. "We're here."

"Awesome," Tucker responded. "Does it look like they're gonna let us land? Or are we gonna have to do this the bullshit way?"

"Just a second," Carolina responded, before fiddling with some of the controls. It was a few minutes later when she popped her head back into the blood tray, announcing, "No one's responding."

"No one?" Simmons asked, tilting his head to the side. "I'm guessing that that's unusual."

"You'd guess right," she growled, before returning to them saying, "Put your helmets on. I told Lopez to just land in the hangar. If we get in trouble we'll deal with the consequences when they come to us."

Anyone not wearing a helmet at that moment quickly put it on, knowing that they had to be serious now.

Simmons just hoped for the best. And what was best for Grif, who apparently was acting like an even bigger idiot than usual.

This is what happens when he leaves his side for even a second! He resolved to not leave the orange soldier alone for the rest of their career. 

Luckily, the prison ship doesn't shoot them down as Lopez landed the pelican. And no armed guards greeted them when the docked and exited. 

Which, ok, yay for them. But Simmons can't deny that he's concerned about the security of the ship at all. Is this really the place that the UNSC trusted to put planetary terrorists in? That's lazy even for them...

"Well, guess we have our answer to what happened to the guards," Tucker commented, causing Simmons to look in his direction.

Only to see him standing over the crumpled forms of two UNSC soldiers.

Rushing forward without hesitation, Grey knelt down next to the two, taking a pulse on the both of them before she moved on to examining for any obvious injuries.

"Well, they're alive," she confirmed. "But unconscious. No signs of any head wounds, so they weren't knocked out that way..."

"What do you make of this Carolina," Tucker asked the Freelancer.

Looking down at the two guards, she clenched her fists slightly. 

"Come on," she said. "There's still the rest of the prison to get to."

She stepped over the bodies, not minding Grey who moved out of her way.

"She's right," Tucker shook his head. "Do you think they'll be fine if we leave them where they are, Grey?"

Sighing, she got up and nodded her head at the aqua soldier, "I'm afraid we might as well. I have a feeling we're going to see more like them up ahead."

"Got it," he responded, moving forward alongside the other Reds and Blues.

Because he was technically supervising, Simmons stayed behind next to Grey who was still looking at the two guards.

"I have a feeling," she announced without prompting. "That Pythias might have had a hand in this."

"Right, Pythias," Simmons nodded before stopping. "Who's... Pythias?"

"Oh, I must have forgotten to make a proper introduction," Grey said. "Pythias is the name of Grif's AI."

"Oh, ok," now he could actually nod with understanding. "Does he do something that can knock out guards or... something?"

"As a medical AI, technically yes, just one quick look and he could pinpoint the correct nerve endings to hit that could knock out any man regardless of size," Grey said. "But, as I recall, this doesn't seem like the type of thing that he'd do."

Glancing to the side, and hearing the others speaking in the distance, announcing more downed security guards, Simmons said, "You have a lot of faith in this AI."

"Of course I do," Grey finally moved away from the bodies, heading into the main hull of the ship that contained the cell blocks. "I worked with him, and I like to think I'm an excellent judge of character."

"Right," he said warily, not too sure if that was a good thing.

Traveling in silence, Simmons wondered just where exactly Grif was. A ship this big, it might be hard to find him, but with the way that they split up, he was sure that one of them would run into him eventually.

The main cell block was completely quiet, but unlike the security guards, all of the convicts were wide awake. 

Which was concerning, because he was sure that many of them would have used this chance to escape, or at the very least, cause some sort of riot.

"Besides," Grey looked into some of the cells, noticing how most of the prisoners weren't even bothering to look in their direction, continuing her previous line of thought. "I can't really fault someone for feeling homesick."

"Homesick?" he parroted back. "How can an AI feel homesick?"

"Well, I suppose it's more like, who was feeling so homesick that their AI reflects that?" she asked, not looking into the cell that she was moving past. "When you think of it that way, it makes much more-"

With no preemptive warning, a hand shot out between the bars of the cell, clasping tightly onto Grey's forearm, cutting off what she was going to say entirely.

Not even needing to think of reacting, Simmons was pointing his gun at the head of the convict, who peered at the two of them with a cocky look.

"Looks like we meet again, bitch," the prisoner grinned baring his teeth.

Simmons recognized that voice, which meant-

"Where's Temple, Buckey?" he growled out, jutting the butt of the gun between the bars and right between the Blues eyes.

"What? No hello for me," the man faux-pouted, before wiping the look off his face- something that Simmons would have liked to do himself for the man- and scowling. "Besides, he's not here."

"Not here?!" he moved back in shock, before realizing that he did so and moving forward again. "How?!"

"You should ask your friend," Buckey mocked. "He's the one who sprung him from this dump."

"No, Grif wouldn't," Simmons immediately defended, not even taking into question all that Grey had informed him about the situation. 

Buckey's eyes darted to the left of the cell and an uncomfortable look grew on his face.

"Yeah, your friend might not," he said after a pause. "But he's not exactly  _ your _ friend anymore, get it?"

"What? No, I don't get it," he frowned. "What does that even mean?"

Grey wrenched her arm out from the Blue's grasp, and judging by the tenseness of her figure, Simmons is absolutely positive that she's beyond pissed.

"What did you do," she asked, voice emotionless, which honestly scared the crap out of Simmons than had he heard any sign of anger from her.

"Not what I did," Buckey slipped his hand back in the cell, careful to keep all parts of his body out of reach of the irate doctor. "But what Temple did."

"Alright then," some form of cheeriness returned to Grey's voice, and Simmons just knew that Temple was absolutely  _ fucked. _ "What did this Temple do?"

"It's really long and complicated," Buckey winced. "But to make a long story short, he wanted to replace Grif with his best friend who just  _ happened _ to die at the hands of your good Freelancer friend."

Well damn. 

Donut had been right in a way.

But Simmons wasn't going to just blindly trust the Blue like they all did last time. He wouldn't be a fool shamed twice.

"And why should we trust you," he exclaimed indignantly. "Last time I checked, you were totally ok with working with Temple!"

"Yeah, but consider, that was before that asshole landed me in jail," the other man glowered. "I'm not going to convince you that I'm some sort of saint- believe me, I'm  _ not- _ but there are certain lines that you don't cross, man. And Temple's been dancing on top of those lines for a while now."

"So you- what? You just suddenly want to stop him," Simmons didn't sound convinced.

"Not suddenly, I've been disapproving of his whole ridiculous as fuck plan since the very start of it!" Buckey said. "I just came to a... realization that maybe it's time I did something about it."

He let that sink in between the two soldiers before he said, "So, you going to let me out of here to help you idiots?"

"I don't believe that you're fully doing this out of the kindness of your heart," Simmons shook his head, continuing to argue. "You must want  _ something _ in return."

"Yeah, all I want is a one day head start when you  _ don't _ return me to prison in exchange for helping your sorry hides," Buckey said completely seriously. "And I want to slap the shit out of Tucker too. That asshole has it  _ coming." _

"Perhaps we could give him a chance, Captain," Grey said, resting her hand against his shoulder.

"Are we even sure he knows what Temple's plan is?" Simmons directed towards her.

"Of course I know his plan, are you kidding me?!" he said. "Who do you think he got to steal the corpse?"

"And I'm just supposed to beli- wait, what?!" Simmons exclaimed. "What corpse?!"

"And besides," Buckey completely ignored his interjections. "I have what  _ he _ really wants."

"Who? Temple?" Grey asked, confused.

"No," Buckey shook his head.

Suddenly, with a blue flash of light, an AI appeared on Buckey's shoulder, looking sheepish as he glanced at the pair.

"I have what  _ Dionysius _ wants," Buckey announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything will make sense next update I swear. Maybe. It depends.
> 
> But hey! Look at that, I actually made Buckey a somewhat not so evil fuck! Ain't that interesting? Also, yeah I gave Biff a first name because it's been bothering me for years that the only Blues and Reds to get a first name was just Temple.
> 
> If you want to see the drawing I did of Dionysius, click [here!](https://agent-murica.tumblr.com/post/186004034255/pythias-the-ai-asked-voice-sounding-near)
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either of my Tumblr's: @agent-murica (main) or @amateurscribes (writing).


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